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The Gentleman s Magazine 



"JANUARY ro JUNE iSSf 



LONDON : PRINTED BY 

SPOTTISWOODB AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 

AND PARLIAMENT STREET 



•2 b 



7X) 



THE 



Gentleman s Magazine 



Volume CCL. 



4om<j- 



&*>) 



JANUARY to JUNE 1881 



Prodesse &* Delectare 




E Pluribus Unum 



Edited by SYLVANUS URBAN, Gentleman 



Honbon 

CHATTO & VVINDUS, PICCADILLY 

1881 



[77/* right 0/ translation is reserved) 



at 

Y 

.C-3 



CONTENTS OF VOL. CCL. 

PACE 

African Journey, A Successful. By Frederick A. Edwards • 347 
Animal Biographies, Some, and their Lessons. By Andrew 
Wilson, F.R.S.E. : 

Part 1 87 

11 176 

Armada, The Invincible. By Alex. Charles Ewald ... 70 

Bishops' Transcripts. By John Amphlett ..... 106 

Canada, The Wild Fowl of. By Alfred Rimmer. . . . 318 

Candour, Mrs. By Dutton Cook 191 

Carlyle, Thomas. By Richard Herne Shepherd . . .361 

Cattle Station, On a. By Redspinner 55 

Cervantes, The Entremeses of. By James Mew . . . .45' 

Charles Lamb's Humour. By Alex. H. Japp . . . . 699 
Colonial Animals and their Origin. By Andrew Wilson, F.R.S.E. : 

Part 1 680 

Comet, The, of a Season. By Justin M c Carthy, M.P. : 

Chap. I. " Lowliness is young ambition's ladder " . . . 1 

II. Helena and Hermia 9 

III. "What's in the ship?— my shipwreck?" ... 20 

iv. A Veiled Prophet 129 

v. Geraldine 138 

vi. The Xanadu of the Future 146 

vii. " You saw her fair, none else being by " . . .257 

viii. Romeo and Rosaline 268 

IX. On Tower Hill 277 

x. Clement's Evening Walk 385 

XI. " Must needs to the Tower ? " 395 

xil. " The desire of the moth for the star" . . . 404 

xili. Elective Affinities 513 

xiv. A Crisis 520 

xv. " Doth not a meeting like this make amends ? " . . 530 

xvi. " All fancy-sick she is " 641 

XVII. Geraldine's Expedition 648 

xviii. Ill met by Moonlight 655 

Cromwell, What became of ? 553 

Czarina Elizabeth, The. By James Forfar 598 



\ 



vi Contents. 



PAG 2 
470 

725 



Degeneration. By Andrew Wilson, F.R.S.E 

Dickens, Charles, in the Editor's Chair 

Discrowned Jingo, The. By The Member for the Chiltern 

Hundred 46 

Docwra, Sir Thomas. By Major F. Duncan .... 102 

Elizabeth, The Czarina. By James Forfar 598 

English Counties, The Names of the. By Henry Bradley. . 712 
English Ethnology and English Genius. By W. Larminie . .233 
Entremeses, The, of Cervantes. By James Mew . . . .451 
Evolution, The, of Insects. By Andrew Wilson, F.R.S.E. . 577 
Facts of Family Nomenclature. By Edward Whitaker . . 537 
Fairyland, The, of Shakespeare. By Charles Grant . . . 426 
Fifteen Puzzle, The. By Richard A. Proctor .... 30 
Fire, The Great, of London. By Alex. Charles Ewald . . 668 
Fleet-Street Taverns, The, and Dr. Johnson. By Percy Fitzgerald 305 
Folk-Lore of the Will-o'-the-Wisp. By T. F. Thiselton Dyer . 335 
Garden Schools and the Froebel or Kindergarten System of Edu- 
cation. By Benjamin W. Richardson, M.D. . . .157 
" Gil Bias," Who wrote ? By Henri Van Laun . . . .213 
Holy Mission, A. By Alex. Charles Ewald .... 285 
Horses, Wild, and Kangaroos. By Redspinner .... 440 
Insects, The Evolution of. By Andrew Wilson, F.R.S.E. . . 577 
Invincible Armada, The. By Alex. Charles Ewald ... 70 
Jingo, The Discrowned. By The Member for the Chiltern 

Hundred 46 

Johnson, Dr., and the Fleet-Stfeet Taverns. By Percy Fitzgerald 305 
Kangaroos and Wild Horses. By Redspinner .... 440 
Kindergarten System, The, of Education. By Benjamin W. 

Richardson, M.D 157 

Kinship, Our, with Russia. By J. Theodore Bent . . . 204 
Lamb's, Charles, Humour. By Alex. H. Japp .... 699 
London, The Great Fire of. By Alex. Charles Ewald . . 668 
Mission, A Holy. By Alex. Charles Ewald .... 285 

Mrs. Candour. By Duttcn Cook 191 

Names, The, of the English Counties. By Henry Bradley . 712 
National Scare, A. By Alex. Charles Ewald .... 410 
Nomenclature, Facts of Family. By Edward Whitaker . .537 

On a Cattle Station. By Redspinner 55 

Pope's Friends, Some of. By John Dennis 615 

Russia, Our Kinship with. By J. Theodore BtNT . . . 204 
Scare, A National. By Alex. Charles Ewald . 410 

Science Notes. By W. Mattieu Williams, F.R.A.S. : 

The Earthquake Liabilities of London — Electric Perforation of 
Glass — The Pathology and Prevention of Sea-Sickness — Fire- 
place Reform — Animal and Vegetable Food — Green Oysters — 
A New Food 112 



Contents. vii 

Science Notes— continued : PAGB 

The Conversion of Smoke into Wealth— A Vegetable Substitute 
for Gastric Juice — Fusion of Steel by Atmospheric Collision — 
Arsenic as a Pig-Fattener 243 

Smokeless Fires and Gas Companies — The Formation of Fogs 
and Clouds — A New Application of the Electric Light — Dis- 
infection and Boric Acid 371 

Spherical Dust — Inverted Photographs of the Sun — Gases singing 
their own Densities— Arsenical Wall-papers — Self-luminous 
Railway Carriages — Flower-pot and Greenhouse Manure — Pure 
Air for Underground Railways — An Original Remedy for 
Mountain Sickness — Iron floating on Iron .... 495 

The Origin of the Salt of the Sea — Uprooting Hairs by 
Electricity — The Universality of Meteorites — The Geological 
Agency of Meteorites — Freezing Trichinae — Ozone and the Blue 
Sky — Alcohol Everywhere — Scientific Applications of Lumin- 
ous Paint — The Muscular Strength of Insects — A very Hardy 
Vine 623 

The Celestial Origin of Hailstones— The Planet Vulcan — The 
Sun's Corona — The Endowment of Research — An Optical 
Experiment for " Constant Readers " — The Suicide of Bacteria 
— Missing Links — Meteoric Organisms — A Simple but Ques- 
tionable Anaesthetic 743 

Shakespeare, The Fairyland of. By Charles Grant . . . 426 
Successful African Journey, A. By Frederick A. Edwards . 347 
Surface, Sir Oliver. By Dutton Cook ...... 565 

Table-Talk. By Sylvanus Urban : 

Mr. Swinburne and Milton — Past v. Present-day Criticism — 
"Prince Saroni's Wife"— Mr. Planches "Songs and Poems "— 
Warriors' Brag — The Advantages of Verbatim Reports . . 1 24 

Mr. Ruskin's "Arrows of the Chace" — A Bibliography of 
Thackeray — Sir T. Chambers and Sunday Dulness — Dying 
upon the Stage — The Development of the Drama in Ancient 
and Modern Times — The Book- Worm and its Doings — The 
Story of Camma 252 

Mistakes in Vapereau's " Biographie des Contemporains n — The 
Misuse of Dangerous Weapons — The need for Reprints of 
" Lowndes " and " Genest " — A Suggestion as to Bindings — 
Street Noises — Works of Reference, and how they are some- 
times scamped 381 

Carlyle's Reminiscences , various Notes upon — Bibliography in 
France and in England — A Statue for Carlyle — Mr. Blades on 
" The Enemies of Books " — An Original Portrait of Milton — 
Bad Indexing—" The Heptalogia " 507 

The East Wind and the Mistral — Security against Fires in 
Theatres — How Theatres should not, and how they should, be 



Vlll 



Contents. 



Table Talk — continued. 

built — New Sources for Fruit-Supply — The Census — Oxford 
and Cambridge Local Examinations and the French Language 
— Women as inspectors — The Edinburgh Review and Thomas 
Carlyle — Mrs. Procter and Carlyle's Reminiscences — Street 
Nomenclature in England and in France — Book-plate col- 
lecting — The Thirty-four Puzzle 

Small-pox and London Hospitals— Lady Nurses — Roman 
Catholic Nurses and Proselytism — Rabelais and Rome — 
The modern revival in acting— Pig-sticking in the Forest of 
Arques — The Medical Profession and its Morality — Theatres 
and Fires— The Ill-treatment of Lunatics 

What became of Cromwell ? 

Who wrote " Gil Bias " ? By Henri Van Laun . 

Wild Fowl, The, of Canada. By Alfred Rimmer 

Wild Horses and Kangaroos. By Redspinner 

Will-o'-the-Wisp, The, and its Folk-Lore. By T. F. Thiselton 
Dyer 



l'AGE 



633 



755 

553 
213 

3i8 

440 

335 



c 






THE 



GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE 

January 1881. 



THE COMET OF A SEASON. 

BY JUSTIN MCCARTHY, M.P. 

Chapter I. 

11 LOWLINESS IS YOUNG AMBITION'S LADDER." 

THE teller of this story has a strong objection to the mysterious 
in fiction. He is quite willing that the personages in the tale 
should get involved in bewilderment and confusion as often as occa- 
sion requires. But he holds to it that the reader ought to have a 
clear understanding all the time of the real meaning and explanation 
of everything that seems a mystery. Some of the plays of an other- 
wise not very meritorious dramatist, the elder Crdbillon, always seem 
to him in one part of their arrangement to furnish a pattern to the 
composers of all fiction, whether in the form of the drama or in that 
of the romance. Crdbillon filled certain of his plays with puzzles. 
Nobody came out in the end to be the person he seemed to be. 
Either he was passing off for somebody not himself, or he honestly 
believed himself to be somebody that he was not Torturing com- 
plications thereby arose ; but only for the people in the play. There 
was no torture for the audience. Cre'billon, by one simple and bold 
device, saved them all pangs of conjecture and torment of doubt 
The list of ** personages of the drama " prefixed to each play care- 
fully explained the identity of every character. Something of this 
kind was set out — " Alceste, a young man believed to be the son of 
the peasant Pierre, but in reality the son of the Count de TEspe'e. 
Bianca, supposed to be a gipsy girl, but afterwards discovered to be 
the long-lost daughter of the Marquise de Monteville." Thus the 

VOL. CCL. NO. 1 80 1. B 



2 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

audience were let comfortably into the secret at the beginning, and 
never had to turn mentally back and hastily revise their first impres- 
sions about any of the personages. I have long since forgotten all 
about Cr^billon's plays, except this arrangement of his dramatis 
persona ; but that has always appeared to me charmingly inartificial, 
straightforward, and deserving of the gratitude of men. In the story 
I am now about to tell, I shall, after my own different fashion, bear 
this principle in mind. Any little mystery that is in it shall be only 
for the persons who move in the drama, and not for the readers. 

I would therefore ask those readers to turn back with me for a 
few pages to a period before that at which the connected action of 
the story begins. One glimpse at a quiet scene which passed some 
fifteen or sixteen years earlier than that day will be enough to put the 
reader in full possession of much that was a secret to men and 
women of whom the story is told, and which, if known by them in 
time, might have influenced so significantly their actions and their 
lives as to leave no story worth the telling. Yet even that scene, if 
it could have been looked on by some of the persons in the story, 
would not have made things as clear to them as a few slight hints of 
explanation shall make them to the reader. To learn that a man 
is not really what he professes to be, might, after all, give a very im- 
perfect and misleading idea of the man's full character. It might 
lead to a stern, uncompromising verdict, instead of a recommenda- 
tion to mercy. 

On a soft evening of late summer, a young man and a young 
woman sat on a bench in a small public park just outside one of the 
great northern towns of England. They were apparently watching 
the setting of the sun. The sight was beautiful enough to have won 
the attention of any two young people, if we still cling to the fond 
idea that young men and women do really care much more for nature 
and her charms than the seniors with whom the world has been too 
much, and whose sun therefore may be supposed to have suffered 
eclipse. But this young man and woman were not really absorbed 
by the glory of the sunset. He was gazing at the west, to be sure ; 
but his eyes did not seem to follow the descent of the sua She was 
not now looking at the sun ; she was looking at him. Her eyes 
were fixed on him with a wistful, devoted, uneasy look, like that 
which a French painter has given to the eyes of Sappho as she 
watches the countenance of her lover, and his unsatisfied gaze far 
into immeasurable deeps of thought; immeasurable, that is to say, 
for her, or at least not measured by her. Any one could see that 
this young pair were a pair — were married. No sister leans so on a 



The Comet of a Season. 3 

brother and looks into his face with a look like that, love she him 
never so tenderly. Nor, it is to be feared, does a young lover ever 
look so fixedly and so far away from the eyes of the girl he loves and 
has not yet been able to call his wife. These lovers were married ; 
had been married rather more than a year. 

The young woman was pretty, winsome, anxious-looking; she 
was clearly what would be called in the common acceptation of the 
word a " lady." The young man was strikingly handsome ; tall, 
slender, dark, and dreamy-looking. Even a man looking at the two 
would have admitted that the pretty pale girl was practically extin- 
guished by the remarkable appearance of her young husband. 
Perhaps a not too keen observer might also have come to the con- 
clusion that this handsome young man was not so distinctly a 
" gentleman," again employing a word in its conventional sense, as 
the girl was a lady. For all the well-dressed and graceful appearance 
of the youth, it still had something of what we cannot perhaps 
describe better than as the " glorified artisan " air. The powers of 
witchcraft would not have been needed to enable any one with his 
wits about him to reach the quick conclusion that the young wife had 
somewhat descended from her social position to get to the young 
lover, and that she adored him all the more. 

" The sun is going down," the girl said. " Look, love ! he will be 
gone in a moment." 

" Yes," the young man answered, without turning to her. " I 
didn't notice ; I wasn't watching him." 

" I thought you were absorbed in the sunset ; I wouldn't have 
said a word to disturb you until he did sink. You ought to have 
been absorbed in me, and not in the sun ; but I wasn't jealous ; I 
quite forgive you." 

" But you see I wasn't thinking about the sun," he said, with a 
smile, and turning to her for the first time. She almost blushed 
when his deep eyes rested on hers, and she saw that, for all his inat- 
tentive ways, there was genuine affection in them. " I was thinking 
of you — all the time ; all the time." 

" Oh, come now, that I know is a story." I am sure you were not" 

" Why do you think that ? " 

" Well, for one thing, because you never looked at me or turned 
your eyes to mine all the time. No, no; you were thinking of something 
else. No matter; it was something great and good, I am sure ; and I 
wouldn't have you wasting your intellect always in thinking of a little 
ridiculous woman, even though she is your wife. So you may con- 
fess openly." 

B2 



4 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

" Well," he said slowly, " it is true all the same. I was thinking 
of you ; I was thinking of both of us — of you and me together." 

She gave a little shudder of pleasure, if such a word may be 
used, and clung closer to hira in a nestling sort of way. The public 
park was very lonely now, at least in that part of it, away from the 
main thoroughfare and great open walks, and the young wife might 
nestle as closely as she pleased unseen of critical eyes. Even die 
sun was no longer there to look at her. 

" Yes, I was thinking of us both. I was thinking of our prospects, 
and our future." 

11 Oh ! that ! " she said. She was not so gladsome as she had 
been an instant before. " You are anxious and uneasy; I know your 
mind is troubled ; you are not happy." 

He said, " I want a career." 

" A career, already ! " 

" Already ? Why, I am three-and-twenty ! and men have made 
themselves a name before that, already." 

" I didn't mean in that way," she said. What she had meant 
was clear enough. She meant, "We have already been married 
little more than a year, and are you already discontented with any- 
thing ? " If she had been in better spirits she would have asked him, 
"Have you not me? Am not I enough?" But she was not in 
good spirits ; something seemed to oppress her ; she was silent for the 
most part, and occasionally inclined to be tearful, for no reason that 
she could well have explained. Nothing was said for a moment or 
two, and then she began: — 

" But you have good prospects, and we are very happy ; why 
should we want anything more — now, at least ? " 

" It won't always be now" he replied a little impatiently ; " and 
you don't know, you couldn't know, how impatient it makes one 
when he thinks he is capable of doing something and can't see his way 
to doing anything. Look here, love ; there are times when I begin 
to think I shall never come to anything ! I get it into my head 
that I have nothing in me — nothing, nothing, nothing at all. Then I 
feel as if I should like to kill myself. Yes, I do indeed. I am not 
talking nonsense." 

" Then you couldn't be happy, even with me % if you did not have 
a successful career and show what you could do ? " 

" No ! " he said desperately, " I couldn't be happy ; it is no use 
trying to get over that I couldn't be happy." 

" You don't really care about me ; not as I care about you, I 
could be happy for ever with you — anywhere, anyhow." 



The Comet of a Season. 5 

u It is because I do love you that I couldn't be happy without 
showing that I was worth the love of a woman like you. You could 
be happy with me anywhere ? Yes ! but there is all the difference. 
You have given up everything for me — your people and all ; I have 
given up nothing ; I had nothing to give up. I want to show that I 
am worth something, and that you were not quite mistaken in throw- 
ing yourself away on me. That is why I feel so wild sometimes. 
What if things go on to the end just like this " 

" Oh, if they only would ! " she said. 

" Yes, yes, in that way it would be happiness, of course, of 
course ; but I mean if they go on to the end without my doing any- 
thing to make a name, and your people see that you have married 
only a commonplace creature, the son of a man who keeps a livery- 
stable — and himself an office clerk ! rather than that, darling — I hope 
you will be crying over my grave." 

" For shame ! I don't believe you love me at all. You are only 
thinking of yourself, not of me. What do I care whether you make 
a name or not, or people admire you or not ? I married you because 
I loved you — you yourself, and not what any one else — the world or 
whatever it is — might have seen in you. I saw my happiness in you, 
I thought That was enough for me." 

" Don't be angry, darling," he said soothingly ; for he was very 
fond of her. " Things will come all right. I'll make myself some- 
thing of a name. You shan't be always talked of as the office clerk's 
wife ; the livery-stable keeper's daughter-in-law. I'll make a name. 
I'll be known in the world; you shall be proud of me yet ! " 

She was chilled and hurt 

"It is not well to set one's heart on such things," she said 
" 'Fame flies the pursuer and pursues the flier,' I used to read some- 
where ; I think it was in some school exercise. One may go up like 
a rocket." 

" And come down like the stick," he said, smiling contentedly. 
" Very well; I should like even that better than nothing. The rocket 
does go up, don't you see, and flames and sparkles, and people stop 
to look at it What if it does come down ? Everything comes down 
sooner or later. I'd rather be the rocket than the gas-jet in the 
office that people turn on when they like and off when they like, and 
never say anything about. Besides," he added more gravely, " I 
shall not be the rocket I don't want to shine for a moment or two 
without any purpose. I want to be known as one who did great 
things for his fellow-man and the world ; and I shall be known in that 
way some day. I don't want only to explode merely; I want to blaze," 



6 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

"Wasn't there," she said, "one who blazed the comet of a 
season ? " 

"I don't know — I haven't read much poetry. But I should 
rather be the comet of a season than not blaze at all." 

Then throwing himself back on the bench and clasping his hands 
behind his head with the manner of one who has settled a question, 
the young man sat in silence a moment. The girl was silent, too ; 
she looked up at the pale sky in which some faint specks of light 
were already seen. The young wife's heart was sinking within her. 
She was egotistic, like all loving women, and she had been under the 
impression that her love would be career enough for her husband. 
He, too, was egotistic, but in a different way. 

He had repeated with literal correctness the facts of his birth and 
his bringing up. He was now a clerk in an office. At the time 
when he was first put into that position he felt as if his heart was 
swelling with pride. To be in an office near the Exchange ; to be 
in a great dark room, with desks, and clerks, and messengers, with 
gas burning all day long in the winter months ; to be spoken of as 
one of the young men from Aquitaine and Company's office, seemed 
to him to open a glorious career for young ambition. For his father 
was a livery-stable keeper, and it was by the favour and kindness of a 
patron whose carriages the father took care of that the youth was 
lifted from his lowly situation at an age much more mature than that 
at which boys usually begin to learn business in such a town, and 
set with his foot on the first round of commerce's ladder to fortune. 
The town in which he lived was one where colossal fortunes are 
made in a few days, and truly are often lost again as quickly, and 
then sometimes remade ; where the unknown adventurer of last year 
is the great luxurious ostentatious merchant prince of to-day. What 
might not genius and courage do in such a place ? 

Meanwhile, however, the young man had only his foot on the first 
round of the ladder. For some time his actual duties were hardly 
more dignified than those of a messenger. He did not find that he 
was developing much genius for mounting quickly. He seemed to 
be very far away indeed from the notice not merely of any of the 
principals, but even of the superior clerks. While he was still with 
his father, looking after or trying to look after the livery stables, the 
father had been in the habit of giving lessons in riding to young 
ladies and gentlemen, and sometimes the son in his absence had 
taken his place. He gave lessons in a riding-ground specially laid 
out for the purpose, and he took the pupils out for training gallops 
along the roads and in the public park. The boy could ride like ft 



The Comet of a Seasoti. J 

young centaur. He seemed to manage his horse as unconsciously 
as he managed his breathing — he breathed, and he rode. One of the 
girls who took riding-lessons of the livery-stable keeper was the 
daughter of a distinguished advocate and Queen's counsel, Mr. 
Fanshawe, who came of good family, had a great practice, and, being 
a northern man by birth, had bought a property near the town where 
the livery stables were kept This daughter got her lessons in riding 
mostly from the livery-stable keeper ; but sometimes, too, from his 
son. These two fell in love. After the young man was transferred 
to the office they corresponded, and occasionally contrived to meet. 
He succeeded in convincing her that he was a man of genius in a 
position wholly beneath him, and before whom one day the world 
must come to bow down. 

Why had he got it into his head that he was a man of genius and 
a master-spirit ? He had as yet done nothing. He had not even 
written poems or essays or begun a tragedy. He had not made 
speeches. He was curiously ignorant on most subjects. His read- 
ing had been only a few biographies of men who had risen from 
lowliness to greatness, some metaphysical books of a cheap and easy 
kind, the " Count of Monte Cristo," and a life of Mahomet. At 
the office even the clerks of his own age thought him a stupid fellow. 
His father never could make much of him, and feared he was hope- 
lessly incapable of getting on, but overlooked all his defects because 
of the memory of his mother, who died young. Yet it was settled 
in the young man's mind that he was a child of genius and of destiny, 
and that the world was yet to hear the loud echo of his tread. Most 
ambitious and clever or silly young men, when they have such con- 
victions about themselves, have also in their minds some idea as to 
the path along which they are to move to greatness. One believes 
himself a poet, another a statesman, another a Michael Angelo of 
the future, the coming Garrick, the Caesar of the modern time ; but 
our young man had no set notion of this kind. He had not yet 
made up his mind as to the sort of greatness he was to have. He 
was not clear even as to the sort of greatness he should wish to have. 
He only said to himself that greatness was his destiny, and left Fate 
to do her duty. Perhaps it was his figure; perhaps his beautiful 
deep, dark, dreamy eyes ; perhaps his singularly handsome face, 
looking a little like that of a young Lucifer before the rebellion and 
the fall ; certain it is that he easily convinced Miss Fanshawe that in 
loving him she loved dawning genius and predestined greatness. 

It was not for that Miss Fanshawe loved him. She did not care 
whether he had genius or not, whether he became great or remained 



8 The Gentleman 's Magazine. 

small. She loved him because she loved him : loved him for him- 
self. So she at last " kicked over the traces," as the livery-stable 
keeper expressed it, and married her lover in defiance of her father, 
mother, and all her friends. From the day when she left their house 
secretly to be married, her father and mother never saw her again. 
Not that they would not have been reconciled with her in time ; but 
they waited for her to submit, and she waited for them ; and some 
months beyond a year passed away, and then their daughter was 
dead. She died a few days after the scene in the park, in child- 
birth — if that can be called child-birth which brings forth only a dead 
child. 

Had she in the later days of their married life been touched by 
any doubts as to the true worth of her idol ? Probably not Prob- 
ably she had only been hurt now and then at the thought that love 
was not enough for him. It is all the same now — she is gone for ever. 

On the very morning before her death, the child of genius re- 
ceived a formal dismissal from Messrs. Aquitaine's office. He was 
considered incapable and idle, and they would have no more of 
him. He sat all the night with his dead wife and his ruined hopes. 
He had not gone near his father for months and months, proudly 
convinced that they were not made for each other ; and he would not 
go near him now. He sat all the night alone and steeped in thought 
All had gone from him. He was down to the lowest deeps of depth. 
He had not a friend on earth. He had only a few pounds in money, 
and even that was the poor wreck and remnant of some money she 
had had left to her by a relative in days when there did not seem the 
slightest probability of her ever having any occasion to spend it 
Such was his state. Clearly, if he was to be taken in hand by 
Destiny, the time had about arrived when Destiny ought to be 
looking after her charge. 

At the funeral of his wife, his father presented himself. They 
exchanged a grasp of the hand — very warm on the father's part. 
The livery-stable keeper asked him to come to his house and 
stay there. He said he would go there later in the day ; and the 
father felt for him and quietly left him, expecting him to come in 
the evening, when perhaps he should have calmed down a little. 
But he did not come that day, nor the next. He never came. He 
never wrote. His father might have supposed that his son was dead, 
perhaps had killed himself, but that an acquaintance had seen the 
young man going on board a steamer, and the young man had 
told him hurriedly that he was leaving England. He always did 
things in an odd sort of way, the father said. Anyhow, he was gone. 



The Comet of a Season. 



Chapter II. * 

HELENA AND HERMIA. 

Change is rapid in the seaport town where the two married lovers 
saw the sun set that evening fifteen or sixteen years ago. There 
are many quiet inland towns of England even still — for all the rail- 
ways, and the telegraph, and the electric light — where no greater 
innovation has been made within that time than the adornment of 
the principal inn with a new sign, or at most the starting of a rival 
hostelry. But in this busy, unresting place of which we are speaking, 
new suburbs, stretching for miles, have grown up ; acres of newly 
built docks have encroached upon the river's banks ; sweet spots 
that were greenwood by the water in the love-making days of pretty 
Miss Fanshawe are now occupied by factories and warehouses ; the 
very park in which the lovers sat that evening was cut up soon after 
and parcelled out in lots for building, and is now fully built over. 
The park was not large enough for the increasing population, and a 
splendid new park, of much larger extent and greater pretensions, 
was opened at the opposite end of the town. On the very spot where 
the poor absurd child of genius sat and bemoaned himself that he 
had not yet found a career; where his young wife looked up into his 
face with anxious eyes, that might have been lit by corpse-candles, 
so ominous was their gleam — on that very spot now, perhaps, some 
happily married pair were settled down under their own roof-tree, 
and gladsome children were playing in the nursery. In our civil 
life, new crops of houses and hearths grow up on the field where 
lovers, seeking solitude, were glad or grieved once, just as grass and 
flowers spring up on the plains where a battle has been fought. 

The public park of the past day had been planted in one of the 
most beautiful suburbs of the town. It stood on the slope of a very 
gentle hill, and was sheltered from the east wind which vexed 
people a great deal in the long and chilly springs ; and it looked at 
one side across the river, there safe even still from the incursion of 
the dock and warehouse builder. The river was broad there ; as it 
went on through the town, it spread out into a mighty estuary ; but 
even here it was a noble stream. So the place where the park had 
been was turned into the site of one of the favourite nests of the 
local aristocracy — the men who had made fortunes in shipping and 
on 'Change, and in all manner of commercial adventures and enter- 
prises. They built themselves lordly pleasure-houses there. They 
built " detached villas," and each man called his villa by some com- 



to The Gentleman's Magazine. 

manding name. They had conservatories and bright gardens below 
and observatories on the tops of their houses. Some loved great flights 
of stone steps, with peacocks parading themselves on terraces. As 
time went on, and fashions in building began to change, some had 
fantastic houses of red brick, made more intensely Queen-Anneish 
than anything of Queen Anne's day could possibly have been, or, 
even for that matter, than Queen Anne herself. Little windows 
started out like Jacks-in-the-box exactly where they might least have 
been expected, with bars across them where there was not the slightest 
necessity for such precaution. Glass was specially manufactured of 
a thick greenish dinginess, and with bull's-eyes elaborately wrought 
in, so that the known imperfections of the glass-making craft in the 
Augustan age of English letters should add to the reality of the care- 
ful imitation. It was said by the friends of one of the enthusiasts in 
the cause of this architectural revival that he had little mechanical 
spiders ingeniously constructed to run up and down some of his 
window-panes, in order to give to his mansion the greater air of 
eighteenth -century realism, by suggesting the domestic untidiness of 
the days of Dean Swift. But this seems only like the foolish plea- 
santry of some outshone rival. It was probably just such a piece 
of idle invention as the story told of a lover of art in the same 
quarter, who had his own portrait done by a great London artist, and 
when it came home had it put up one of the chimneys for some 
time, to smoke it into respectability of appearance, and then spent a 
whole evening bending and cracking it in all directions, so that its 
surface might seem like that of some of the masterpieces he had seen 
in the National Portrait Gallery. 

One, at least, of the red-brick houses in this region was really 
modest and tasteful in its style and all its arrangements. It wore its 
Queen Anne garb with the quiet ease of one who, having chosen a 
suitable fancy costume for a masquerade, is able to wear it properly 
and becomingly. This house belonged to Mr. Aquitaine, head of a 
great firm of shippers. Mr. Aquitaine was of Huguenot descent. 
His people had been settled in that seaport since the revocation of 
the edict of Nantes, and had always prospered there. The family 
now counted among the oldest in the town, and the name had 
actually become associated with the place. It brought to the 
ordinary Englishman now no suggestion of Huguenots or foreign 
origin, but only told of the town in which Mr. Aquitaine lived. His 
name and that of his family were known all over the world where 
trade was heard of and ships came into port Mr. Aquitaine had 
* elled much in his time, but never called it travelling or thought 



The Comtt of a Season. n 

of himself as a traveller. He had even done some African exploring, 
for the interest of the thing, but he never for a moment regarded 
himself as an African explorer. Ever since he was old enough 
to be of any use to the great house, he had been in the habit of 
going off at a moment's notice to any part of the world whither it 
might be necessary to despatch him. He went to New York or San 
Francisco as another man might go to Edinburgh or to Paris. He 
talked of " the last time I was in Melbourne — no, the last time but 
one, I think it was." If somebody asked him how some friend was 
getting on in Japan, he might perhaps answer carelessly, " Well, 
really I don't quite know ; I haven't been in Japan for more than 
three years ; I don't go there now." When the diamond fields were 
discovered in South Africa, he went out two or three times just to 
have a look at them. He was very glad of the annexation of the 
Fiji Islands, and remarked that every time he went to Fiji he was 
more and more impressed with the value of the resources and the 
position that were neglected there by the English Government. But 
he was not the least in the world of a wanderer. He never went 
anywhere without some practical purpose. He belonged, roughly 
speaking, to all the local boards and institutions of his town. He 
subscribed to everything. He made no distinction of creed in his 
gifts and charities, and spoke on the platforms of all denominations 
in turn. 

Mr. Aquitaine was now about sixty years old. He wore a short, 
thick, white moustache and no beard. For all his generations of 
family settlement on English soil, he still had a great deal of the 
typical Frenchman about him. With a slight change of garb, say to 
a shabby outworn semi-military undress, he would have been just the 
sort of man one might expect to meet near that building in Paris 
which the English lady in " Peregrine Pickle " calls the " Anvil- 
Heads." Yet he regarded himself as intensely English, and was in 
all his views of things, political and other, the most inveterate and 
uncompromising John Bull. He did not like the Americans ; he 
detested the Russians. He had a poor idea of the Germans. His 
general notion of the way for England to solve any difficult question 
in foreign affairs was to occupy some place. His way to improve 
any uncivilised country was for England to annex it He had always 
had great ideas of things to be done in the Levant and in Egypt; and 
he had done one great thing for himself in the Levant : he had found 
a wife there. He fell in love with a girl in Rhodes, a sort of Greek 
with an English mother, and he married her and brought her home. 
She was at that time beautiful, but she bad Men a good deal out of 



12 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

shape lately, and did little more than stay at home, lie on a sofa, and 
receive her friends. She was at least ten years younger than Mr. 
Aquitaine ; but he had not lost one fibre of his youthful energy, and 
she had not a fibre left of hers. They had been married very nearly 
five-and-twenty years, and for five years had had no child Then 
Mrs. Aquitaine had one daughter, and they had no children after. 
They lived very happily after their fashion. Mr. and Mrs. Aquitaine 
hardly ever saw each other alone except at night, and not always 
even then. He would not have her disturbed, and she liked going 
to bed early. He had therefore a bedroom fitted up for himself on 
the ground-floor, and whenever he was disposed to sit up late or to 
rise specially early, was starting off" on a journey, or had just come 
back from some expedition, he betook himself to this room, and so 
spared the quiet habits of his wife. The house was always more or 
less full of company. The family never by any chance had it all 
to themselves. The three would hardly have known it or themselves 
under such conditions. 

A young lady is mounting a flight of stairs in Mr. Aquitaine's 
house one bright morning in the early spring : she is running very 
briskly up, and evidently is not troubled with shortness of breath. 
She is a good-looking girl with a certain serious look, and a way of 
slightly puckering her eyebrows every now and then as though 
she were in earnest about things. She had evidently been out-of- 
doors, for she wore a hat, beneath which only a little of her carefully 
tucked-up fair hair made its appearance. She reaches a door and 
v knocks : no answer comes from within. Then she called " Melissa ! " 
two or three times, and knocked a little more sharply. A faint voice 
seemed to be heard, languid, and far away. 

" Melissa ! may I come in ? " 

Another murmur was heard, which the young lady on the outside 
assumed to be assent At all events, Fhe tried the door, found that 
it was not locked, and went into the room. It was a very large 
room, and she looked about with a puzzled air. 

" Where on earth is the child ? " she said aloud. 

The room was not furnished after the fashion of sleeping-chambers 
in the days of Mrs. Masham and Sarah Jennings. It was all got up in 
some combination or jumble of various Eastern fashions. The ceilings 
and the wall were painted after the style of a great Moorish building. 
The floors were tesselated marble, with scattered pieces of Turkish 
carpet, and piles of cushions here and there. One corner suggested 
Damascus, and another Delhi It was very Oriental — almost as 
much so as some of the Oriental courts in the Crystal Palace, of 



The Coniet of a Season. 13 

which, indeed, it at first reminded Miss Sydney Marion, who stood, 
now looking at its various adornments, still holding the handle of 
the door, and hardly certain whether to go in or to back out 
Opening from the other side of the room she saw a little passage, 
marble-paved and carpet-betossed too, and she could see that it led 
into a gorgeous-looking bath-room, the entrance of which was half 
draped by a carelessly gathered-up curtain. These decorations and 
appointments illustrated the tastes, not of Mr. Aquitaine, but of his 
wife and daughter. Was there no occupant of this superb sleeping 
saloon ? Miss Marion looked around in wonder, and might have 
backed out altogether, but that a faint laugh drew her attention to 
one spot where she saw a curtain hanging before a sort of recess. 
She went up, drew the curtain, and discovered a small alcove with a 
most luxurious bed, and a very luxurious little demoiselle coiled up in it. 

" Oh ! there you are at last ! " Miss Marion said, and she shook 
her friend by the shoulder. 

A murmur only was heard. 

" Get up, you dreadful lazy little girl; see how the sun is shining! 
It is so delicious ; it's not like anything I ever saw before. Do pro- 
mise me that you will get up at once." 

The pretty girl languidly half-opened her dark brown eyes, and 
gave another toss or two in her bed, and shrugged herself together 
again. 

" Do get up, Melissa! won't you, like a dear girl ? H 

" But I don't want to get up, Sydney. What's the good of getting 
up ? — I've often been up." 

" The lovely morning, the sun, the flowers " 

" I've seen the sun and the flowers, all sorts of flowers — I don't 
care about flowers — I don't care about the sun; I prefer the moon." 

" But last night you said you would not come out to see the 
moon. You said you didn't care about the moon." 

" I didn't then : but that was night This is morning; that makes 
all the difference. Don't you see? " 

Miss Marion laughed. 

" I fancy it does make all the difference, and I do see well 
enough. What a tormenting little dear you are, to be sure ! But I 
do want you to enjoy the morning with me ; or I want rather 
to enjoy the morning with you. You'll come down, won't you, to 
please me ? I am like the little boy in the old nursery story, or some- 
thing of that kind, who went about teasing all manner of unwilling 
creatures, the sheep, and the dog, and the cat, and I don't know 
what, to come and play with him." 



14 The Gentleman! s Magazine. 

" Which am I — the sheep, the dog, or the cat ? M 

" Oh ! you are none of these — the leopard kitten, perhaps ; if such 
a creature is nice and lazy, and what people call aggravating ; if so, 
there you are" 

"Well, it's all right; I'll get up," said the lazy girl resignedly. 
" One must get up some time in the day, and it is as well to do it now 
as later, I suppose ; that's philosophy, I should think." 

" Hang up philosophy," said Sydney. 

" Come, now, you are always telling me I say rude things and use 
slang words. What do you say to ' hang up philosophy ' ? " 

" But that's a quotation, Melissa ; it's from Shakespeare. Don't you 
know? " 

" Then Shakespeare must have been a very vulgar man," the young 
lady said decisively. Having thus settled the question, she rolled 
herself up in a significant way and was silent, thereby implying that 
the sooner her friend left her the sooner she would get up and pre- 
pare to enter on the business and pleasures of the day. 

" Just one word, Melissa : you won't go to sleep again ? " 

" Glamis," the young lady murmured from among her pillows — 
" that's you — hath murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor — that's me ; 
I know I ought to say ' that's I,' but doesn't it sound odd ? and 
therefore Cawdor — that's I or me, whichever you please — shall sleep 



no more." 



" I thought just now y6u seemed to know nothing about Shake- 
speare," said Sydney. 

"That's not Shakespeare; it's Henry Irving." 

" What a ridiculous creature you are ! You know a great deal 
more than you pretend to." 

"All right, dear; most people pretend to a great deal more 
than they know ; I may want to redress the balance, don't you see? 
Well, I'll not go to sleep again. Would you mind sending Priscilla 
to me if you see her ? or if you would just ring the bell for her 
before you leave the room, that would save a second or two, perhaps; 
and a second saved is a second earned." 

Miss Marion laughed and rang the bell for Melissa's maid, and 
then left her companion, and went downstairs and out into the 
garden. The little sensuous maiden above-stairs hugged herself once 
or twice deliciously in her wrappings. The morning was mild and 
soft, and suggested no great need of nestling in bedclothes. But 
this was a young lady who immensely loved comfort and warmth 
and indolence, and harmless little luxuries and self-indulgences of all 
Hinds. During the few moments which elapsed before her maid 



The Comet of a Season. 1 5 

came into the room she had changed her position several times; 
not that she found herself uneasy in any, but that even for that 
moment it delighted her to try for some posture of still greater 
comfort, to seek the ideal position of the moment. But when her 
maid came and told her her tepid bath was ready, she made a 
heroine-like effort and actually got up. 

It may be safely asserted of Miss Aquitaine that she never yet had 
had one thought that lasted for a moment concerning any creature 
or subject outside the range of her own personal impulses, whims, 
and wishes. Her impulses were often kind and sometimes generous, 
and then she was kind and generous for the moment ; but she never 
thought of being kind or generous, or did anything, because it ought 
to be done. She was keenly sensitive to pain herself, but never 
seemed to have got far enough outside her own personal sensations 
to think whether others were affected by pain or not. She had not 
the least idea of the value of money, and, indeed, hardly ever had 
money in her purse, or even in her hand. Everything was bought 
for her that she wished to have ; many things were bought for her 
before she had time to wish to have them. Her father and mother 
had made her their little idol and fetish from the days of her birth. 
Having no other child, they were always wildly alarmed about the 
health of this one little treasure. . Up to the present hour it was an 
article of faith in the household that Melissa was in delicate 
health and required constant care. The girl never had a cough or 
a cold in her life, was ignorant of the pangs of toothache, and did 
not know that she had lungs and digestive organs. The superb 
strength of her constitution could not be better evidenced than by 
the fact that it had hitherto withstood all the attempts of her father 
and mother to keep her well, and all her own attempts to make her- 
self ill. She ate and drank whatever she liked, and at any time that 
suited the whim of the moment ; lay in bed as long as she liked, sat 
up as late as she liked, took six warm baths in one day if she felt 
inclined. She often did feel inclined to paddle in her bath for hours 
together, like a South Sea Island girl plashing idly in her sunny waters. 

Melissa took a long time to get bathed and dressed, and she did 
not hasten her movements in the least because of her waiting friend. 
She was very fond of Miss Sydney Marion, but she did not mind 
letting her wait. In fact, she never thought about the matter at all 
Miss Marion was carried off to breakfast by her host, who assured 
her it would not be of the slightest use waiting for Melissa, as no one 
could tell when she would come down, or whether she would have 
any breakfast when she did come. ' Miss Marion was out again on 



1 6 The Gehtlemaris Magazine. 

the lawn looking at the sparkling waters of the river, all wrinkled and 
rippling under the light spring wind, when her friend at last came to 
her side. Melissa was short and dark, with a graceful plumpness 
which might perhaps in some far-off time develop, as her mother's 
had done, into what blunt persons would call fat. Just now, how- 
ever, no one would be likely to find fault. Melissa was a little 
beauty, and thought so. 

"How you must love this river!" Sydney Marion said. She 
came from a quiet cathedral town, far inland. Her mother was dead ; 
her father and sister were not now in England ; she had been staying 
with an aunt until yesterday, when she came to pass some time with 
her father's friends, Mr. and Mrs. Aquitaine, and her school-fellow, 
Melissa. She had never been in their house before, and everything 
was new and delightful to her. 

" I don't care a pin about it," Melissa said. " It's always the 
same dull thing flowing in the same stupid way. Everything is dull. 
Nothing ever happens. One gets awfully tired. I want something 
new. If only something would happen ! " 

" But something always is happening." 

" Oh, no ! oh, dear, no ! not anything that I call something. I 
want something quite remarkable to happen." 

"Well, something is happening that I call very remarkable. 
Don't you call papa's coming home, and coming to stay here, some- 
thing remarkable ? Don't you call our all going to London together 
something remarkable?" 

" Yes, of course ; yes, quite so." The young lady did not 
appear to be taken all of a heap by the reminder. " Yes ; I am 
very glad of your papa's coming home, for your sake, dear Sydney." 

" And I hope you are glad of it, too, for your own sake?" 

" Indeed I am," Melissa answered, with a little more earnestness 
in her tone. " I know I shall like him very much." 

" Like him ! No ; that's not enough. You must be very fond 
of him. You will be." 

"lam sure I shall." 

" Well, then, that is something remarkable ; and I call it remark- 
able, too, that he should bring Miss Rowan along with him." 

"That is perhaps a little remarkable," Melissa said demurely. 
" Do you think you shall like her?" 

" Yes ; I am sure I shall. She is very lovely, I believe, and full 
of enthusiasm about everything." 

" Full of enthusiasm about everything ! That must be rather 
trying and tiresome, mustn't it ?" 



The Comet of a Season. ly 

11 Not in her, Melissa, I believe ; not in her." 

" She must be a regular charmer !" 

" I believe she is." 

" Who told you all this about her?" Melissa asked, with a slightly 
quickened interest in her manner. 

" Papa, of cpurse." 

" Oh ! ' Papa, of course ' ! Yes. Indeed ? Does he greatly 
admire her?" 

" Very much, I think. He has quite an affection for her, I am 
sure." 

" Oh ! " 

There was silence for half a moment, and then Melissa looked 
up to her companion, and complacently said : " Perhaps he'll marry 
her?" 

" Who, Melissa — marry whom ?" 

" Your papa — ' papa, of course ' — perhaps he'll marry this delight- 
ful Miss Rowan?" 

Sydney frowned a little, and her lip quivered. 

" You don't know papa, Melissa." 

" But why, Sydney ? Why shouldn't he marry her, if he is so 
fond of her ? Of course one doesn't like having a stepmother, and 
all that ; but I suppose these sort of people are not so cruel now as 
they used to be ; and, besides, you admire her so much yourself. I 
should think it would be quite a delightful arrangement for all 
parties. I am sure there is something in it. You may depend upon 
it, Sydney, things will end that way." 

Miss Marion was going at first to allow herself to be very angry ; 
but she thought it would be ridiculous to take any serious notice of 
such nonsense, and she was beginning to understand her friend's 
childlike delight in inflicting little punctures of annoyance every now 
and then. She did not allow herself to be angry, therefore, or even 
grave. 

" You little silly goose," she said, " to talk that way of papa ! 
And I can assure you that I don't believe Miss Rowan is the girl to 
marry in such a way." 

" But your papa is very nice, isn't he — clever, and all that ? You 
always say so. "And tall and handsome, isn't he? Why shouldn't 
she marry him?" 

"Stuff, Melissa!" 

" I'll marry him if he asks me — fast enough," the little lady said, 
very composedly. " That would be something happening ! But I 
am sure he won't ask me." 

vol. ccl. no. i9oi. c 



1 8 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

" I am quite sure he won't," Sydney replied with emphasis. 

" Yes ? — I don't know. I think he might do worse. I should like 
immensely to be your stepmother. I should be awfully severe. 
Well, never mind ; let us talk of something else. But first, one word 
about this Miss Rowan." 

" You will see her soon, and then you can form an opinion of her 
for yourself." 

" But it was about your opinion of her I wanted to know some- 
thing. You never saw her? " 

" Never." 

" Yet you like her ? " 

" I know I shall like her very much." 

" Because your papa likes her? " 

" Quite so, Melissa." 

" Then do tell me, are you really such an awfully good girl that 
you actually like people because your parents — I mean your father — 
likes them ? " 

" I don't know about being an awfully good girl ; indeed, I know 
I am not an awfully good girl ; but it does seem a reason for liking 
people if one's father likes them, does it not ? " 

" Oh, dear, no ; quite the reverse, I should say. If papa and 
mamma like people very much, my natural impulse always is to 
dislike them. I thought that was every one's first impulse. How 
can one like anybody whom every one else is always praising — espe- 
cially one's parents ? If I hear them praise any other girl, I always 
take it as a reproach dealt sidelong to myself. It always seems to 
mean, * Why are not you a dear, charming, delightful, virtuous angel 
like this ? Why are you not the prop of your father's old age, and 
the joy of your mother's decaying years, like this blessed creature ? ' 
And then, of course, one naturally begins to hate the blessed creature, 
and to think what a great disagreeable impostor she must be." 

Miss Marion made no comment on these words. They seemed 
to have set her thinking. 

" Sydney, you haven't told me anything about your sister. You 
know I never saw her." 

" You will soon, see her too ; I'll leave you to judge for 
yourself." 

" Don't you like her ? " 

" My dear little Melissa, what a question ! " 

" No, but don't you ? Don't you, really? " 

" Like my sister ? Of course I do." 

" But you don't get on, perhaps ? " 



The Comet of a Season. 19 

" Well, we have not been much together this long time." 

" I am sure there is something ! " Melissa said triumphantly. " I 
am so glad ! I like to hear of people who don't get on and all that 
They seem more like myself. I shall like you ever so much better 
if you quarrel with your sister ; and I shall like her if she quarrels 
with you. I shall devote myself to the task of making mischief 
between you. That might be something happening." 

" What a dreadful little animal you would be," Miss Marion said, 
" if you were only a quarter as bad as you make yourself out ! But 
you can't set any quarrel going between Katherine and me ; and I 
know you wouldn't if you could. I almost wish you could, 
Melissa." 

" Oh ! why? " Melissa asked with eyes of beaming curiosity. 

" I am not sure that I quite know why ; and I am sure that if I 
did I wouldn't tell you, you naughty little child." 

" How disagreeable of you ! You won't tell me anything," 

" I think I have told you a great deaL" 

" Then, if I can't set you two women quarrelling, I'll tell you 
what I will do. I'll start a flirtation with your sister's husband, and 
make her awfully jealous ; that will be capital fun." 

Sydney only laughed at this resolve. 

" You'll not be able to do that either," she said. 

" Why not ? " 

" Well, for one thing, I think Mr. Trescoe isn't given to flirtation. 
He is terribly shy ; Katherine does all the flirtation that is likely to 
go on there, I fancy." 

" Then there will be all the more fun in drawing him out, won't 
there ? I must be doing something, Sydney ; you are all going to 
be so awfully happy and fond of one another, and I shall be left out 
in the cold ; and if I am not to marry your papa, I really must get 
up a flirtation with your brother-in-law. Is he nice ? Is he hand- 
some — is your sister the grey mare ? Oh ! I say, let us talk of 
something else. Here's papa coming ; he will think me dreadfully 
silly." 

" I don't see how he could well think anything else," said Sydney. 
" But 111 not tell tales on you, if you will only promise to be more 
reasonable for the future." 

" Indeed, I won't promise anything of the kind ; I must do 
mischief of some sort, flirting or quarrelling, or something. How do 
you do, papa? We have been talking about philosophy andjthe 
future life— Sydney and I." 

C2 



20 The Gentleman's Magazine. 



Chapter III. 

"WHAT'S IN THE SHIP? — MY SHIPWRECK?" 

Mr. Aquitaine came towards the girls. He looked like a young 
man when seen at a little distance, so straight, strong, and active was 
his frame. He was rapid and vigorous in his walk, and held his 
head up with a quick business-like air, the air of a man always ready. 
He was never slow or undecided in any of his movements ; and he 
never seemed to be in a hurry. He had apparently contrived to 
combine the vivacity of his ancestral home with the solid composure 
of the country his people had adopted. He was smoking a cigar ; 
he wore driving gloves, and had a camellia in his button-hole nearly 
as large as a star-fish. 

"I'm going to show you everything while you are here, Miss 
Marion. We'll take a tremendous drive to-day to begin with ; only 
you and Mel and I. My wife never goes out of the house. The only 
question is, what to begin at. What are your particular tastes in the 
way of towns and sight-seeing, Miss Marion? We have got all 
manner of things on exhibition : river-scenery, landscape, streets, 
docks, museums, what not. Are you interested in docks ? " 

" Dear papa, how could Sydney be interested in docks ? What 
girl ever cared about docks ? You might as well ask her if she felt 
interested in tobacco- warehouses." 

"Well, there's a good deal to interest one in the tobacco -ware- 
houses. I'll give her a look at them too." 

" I like to see everything," Sydney said. " I love the great broad 
river because it is so new to me, and so unlike anything we have at 
home. But I think I should very much like to see your schools — 
the board- schools." 

Melissa made a grimace expressive of the profoundest distaste for 
this branch of study. 

" And I should like very much to go through the poorest quarters 
of the town ; the streets where the low public-houses and beer-shops 
are, and the lanes and alleys, and such places." 

" I am sure I don't want to see any such places," Miss Aquitaine 
declared, with a shudder at the mere thought of their existence. 
" What a strong-minded girl you are ! I should never have thought 
it — with that fair hair too, and that complexion." 

" Very good," Mr. Aquitaine said. " You are quite right, Miss 
Marion ; I am glad to hear you have an interest in such things. I 
thought it was only up here in the North that women cared much 
for the condition of the poor, and the schools, and all that. You may 



The Comet of a Season. 21 

depend upon it, I'll take care that you see everything. But Mel won't 
come. She wouldn't take any interest ; and she is hardly strong 
enough ; it's a little beyond her." 

This was quite enough to determine " Mel " on going. 

"Then I am to be left behind to my own company?" she said, 
" while you two go exploring and seeing all manner of odd sights ! 
Excuse me, sir and madam, I'll go too. It will be delightful. Quite 
the Caliph Haroun Al-Raschid sort of thing. Look here, Sydney, 
I vote we dress in men's clothes." 

" Some of mine," Mr. Aquitaine suggested. He was about five 
feet ten ; Melissa about five feet nothing. 

" Anyhow, I'll go," his daughter insisted. 

" All right, girl," her father said complacently. Suddenly remem- 
bering something, he turned to Miss Marion : — 

" I forgot to say I had a letter from your father this morning, 
Miss Marion." 

She gave an exclamation of eager delight. 

" But it tells us nothing — I mean, nothing that you don't know 
already. It was written days and days before he left New York, and you 
know we have had telegrams from him since. We had one after he had 
actually left New York, sent back in the pilot boat from Sandy 
Hook. So, of course, his letter tells us nothing so far as that is con- 
cerned ; we know he has sailed, and you may make your mind quite 
easy about him and his companions. They have splendid weather, and 
a good wind to help them along. They must be half-way across by this 
time." 

" How soon shall we see him ?" Sydney asked anxiously — and 
she asked only for him, 

" Oh, well, in a very few days. We shall hear from them when they 
get to Queenstown. Don't you be anxious ; don't think about it at all. 
He'll be here before you know where you are ; before we have half 
done these schools. By the way, they have rather a remarkable 
fellow-passenger, he tells me." 

Sydney did not seem to care much about the remarkable fellow- 
passenger. But Mr. Aquitaine liked instructing people about all 
manner of subjects, and having the first of everything. He was not 
going to let Miss Marion escape the remarkable fellow-passenger so 
easily. 

" You have heard of Montana, Miss Marion, I am sure ? " 

" A place in America ? " Miss Marion said a little doubtfully. 

" Yes, there is a Montana in America, sure enough ; but it isn't 
that Montana that is coming over in the steamer." 

Miss Marion shook her head: she did not know of any other 



22 The Gentleman 's Magazine. 

Montana. Mr. Aquitaine was glad, on the whole ; it gave him the 
more to tell. 

" Is Montana a man or a woman ? " his daughter asked. 

" Montana is a man." 

" Sounds more like a woman, doesn't it? " Melissa observed. 

" No ; it's a queer name, when one comes to think of it ; not an 
American name, certainly. But I don't suppose Montana is an 
American, except perhaps by birth ; I fancy he hails from some- 
where in Europe. Anyhow, he is a very remarkable man, Miss 
Marion. They were talking a great deal about him when I was last 
in the States, but I never happened to see him." 

" I thought every one was a remarkable man in America," Melissa 
interposed. 

Her father went on, addressing himself to Sydney, "This is 
really a man out of the common — I have never heard how he 
began ; but he was a soldier in the war — the great civil war, you 
know ; and he left what they call a good record there, and now he 
is a lecturer, or preacher, or something of the kind, and the head of a 
great new school, and has what people call a mission of some sort. 
I have no doubt he is coming to Europe on some mission." 

" He must be a tiresome old man," Melissa observed in her 
genial way. " I hate people with missions." 

" It is interesting," Miss Marion said after a moment. " I won- 
der, will papa like him ? He doesn't generally like strangers." 

"People are not strangers to each other on board an ocean 
steamer," Mr. Aquitane said. " Come, young ladies, get ready, and 
let us be moving ; we have a great deal to see." 

"Ah, yes," Melissa assented, with a sigh of anticipatory weariness. 
Sydney heard her, and was almost inclined to feel hurt. But Melissa 
smiled on her with such a pretty saucy smile of innocent infantile 
wilfulness that it was impossible to feel angry ; impossible not to 
laugh with the tormenting little creature. Sydney looked anxiously 
along the river before turning away; it was still all sparkling and full 
of hope to see. If it had been dark, and the ripples had been ruffled 
ever so little more than when she first looked on it that morning, she 
might have taken it as an evil augury. But it still sparkled as if it had 
only to bear up vessels with youth at their prow and pleasure at their 
helm ; pretty dancing things made in the shape of sea-shells with 
silken sails, and little cupids playing at seamen, and nereids swim- 
ming all around and occasionally pushing the boat along in 
sport with their dripping shoulders. Sydney was not, in truth, so 
foolish as to be greatly alarmed about the dangers of the deep for 
people crossing the Atlantic in fine spring weather and in a great 



The Comet of a Season. 23 

steamer. But she had an anxious way about most things. She was 
commonly uneasy about her own people, about her father whom 
she loved, and her sister whom she tried to love. She was almost 
always thinking whether this or that would be agreeable to her father 
or not If anybody were to mention anything in connection with 
her father's name, her first thought was one of anxious wonder as to 
whether her father would find himself pleased or not pleased. Now 
she was distressing her mind a little about the remarkable person 
coming over in the steamer with Captain Marion, and wondering 
whether her father would find the companionship an advantage or a 
nuisance on the voyage. 

They saw a great many sights that day and for two or three days 
following. Mr. Aquitaine was determined to keep Sydney going 
incessantly, in order that she might not have too much time to think 
of her father on the sea. He took care that the girl should be very 
tired when she returned to dinner every day ; and he had always a 
number of people to dine with them. He left her few moments 
for anxious meditation. 

Mr. Aquitaine found that in ail things, apart from her over-anxious 
ways about her father, he had a decidedly practical young woman to 
deal with in Sydney Marion. He was used to practical girls in the 
North, but he was under the impression that no such creatures 
came from the south. He had not faith in the practical work of man 
or woman below Birmingham, but he was especially inclined to put 
little faith in the business capacity of woman. In the North, indeed, 
there were so many practical and efficient women, that perhaps it 
made home life a pleasant variety to Mr. Aquitaine to have his wife 
and daughter so absolutely devoid of the practical element. Mrs. 
Aquitaine was still as ignorant of the working of English domestic, 
political, or social institutions, as if she had never been out of the 
Levantine region, and had never read a book or asked a question 
about England. Melissa did not know, and did not intend to know, 
anything about such dry subjects as laws and institutions. Mrs. 
Aquitaine could not have understood if she would ; Melissa could 
have understood, but would not Mr. Aquitaine was surprised to find 
how like a genuine Northern girl Sydney Marion was in many ways. 
She showed a deep interest in schools and workhouses and ventila- 
tion, and even rates and taxes. She wanted to know the averages of 
everything. She examined the little boys and girls at various board- 
schools, and praised some of those institutions and gravely shook her 
young head at others. 

" Where did you get all this common sense, Miss Marion ? " Mr. 
Aquitaine once bluntly asked " I am sure your father hadn't much 



24 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

of it ; and from what I saw of your sister Katherine I don't think she 
was richly endowed with it either." 

Sydney could not, perhaps, have well explained Yet the causes 
were not far to seek. She was three years older than her sister 
Katherine, and, when their mother died, she was left in charge of 
the household, being then only eighteen. She soon found that the 
household had been going to rack and ruin for a good long time 
before. Her mother was a sweet, bright, clever creature who always 
looked young, always kept young in face and in heart, was loved by 
every one, and let things go as they would. Captain Marion had 
been in the army for a short time, but had sold out when he got 
married, and settled down to enjoy domestic life, and to cultivate his 
literary tastes. He meant to write a book. He was still writing it 
He had put most of his own money and his wife's into American rail- 
ways, and for a long time it seemed as if he might as well have 
deposited it in the Atlantic. Sydney had some trouble to keep 
things straight for a while ; and not the least of her troubles was the 
effort to induce her younger sister to put up with any manner of 
little privation without too much grumbling. Katherine was very 
vain, and soon grew mightily fond of admiration, and could hardly 
endure a life of restriction and dulness. Now, however, the railway 
property was at last coming to be a genuine thing ; Captain Marion 
seemed likely to be a man of means again. He had gone out to 
the States to look after his affairs there, and to have the pleasant 
holiday of a successful man who combines business with pleasure 
and enjoys both. 

Why did not Sydney go with him ? Well, Sydney was a sort of 
pretty girl ; but somehow she was not attractive. There are fashions 
in beauty as capricious, and for their time as inexorable, as the fashions 
in dress. It is easy to believe in the satirist's account of what 
happened when the vision of Helen of Troy was conjured up to 
delight the eyes of a modern group of spectators. The ladies all 
declared that she was a mere fright and dowdy. It was not their 
jealousy ; the expression was doubtless quite sincere. Helen's 
beauty was not the reigning style, and to them it was the same thing 
as ugliness. Sydney Marion was by no means a Helen ; but her face 
might have been thought handsome in the days when oval faces and 
high foreheads were assumed to be the portion of every true heroine. 
But by the time she was able to come out in the living world and 
emerge a little from the almost cloister-like retirement of the cathe- 
dral town and her family difficulties, that style of beauty had passed 
utterly out of fashion. She ought to have a square-cut face and a 
long chin, and Nature had denied her these attractions. Her hair 



The Comet of a Season. 25 

ought to have come down in a fringe over her forehead, and it refused 
to do so of itself, and she would not use artificial means to coerce it. 
Her sister Katherine used to be thought rather a little fright in her 
school-days, because of her tiny turn-up nose, her sharp chin, and 
her unmanageable hair. Now she was regarded by every one as the 
beauty of the family. Sydney Marion's face was an anachronism ; 
and she was set down as old-fashioned. No doubt the fashion 
would change, and the oval faces and high foreheads might have 
their day again ; but Sydney Marion's youth would hardly wait for 
that revenge of time. She was already in her twenty-fifth year. 

Perhaps the consciousness that her face was out of fashion helped 
to make her somewhat practical and opinionated. She seemed to 
most people a little hard. She kept her mind somewhat too well 
regulated. She could have fallen in love, and was longing to love 
some one ; but she had not as yet had a chance. She was wildly 
fond of her father and her mother ; and it always seemed to her that 
both preferred Katherine. She adored her father, and she felt sure 
that, with his equable temper and his love for philosophical justice, 
he must think her a better girl and more devoted daughter than 
Katherine ; and yet he seemed to enjoy Katherine's society more. 
A handsome young man used to visit them in their country obscurity, 
the eldest son of Sir Stephen* Trescoe, a neighbouring landlord, and 
Sydney thought she could love him, felt herself drawn towards him, 
was sure she could confide in him, almost fancied he seemed to 
show some feeling with regard to her ; and he proposed for Katherine, 
and was accepted, and evidently believed he had carried off the most 
delightful woman in the world. There was some fear lest young 
Trescoe's stately and rich family might dislike a marriage with the 
daughter of a man who appeared to be poor ; but no sooner was 
Katherine seen by the lover's father and mother than they were 
captivated by her, and metaphorically clasped her to their bosoms. 
Sydney felt certain that if it had been she they would have been 
sure to object decidedly to the match. When the young married 
pair resolved to go with Captain Marion to the States, Sydney made 
some excuse for remaining behind, and her father, perhaps divining 
her feelings — he was very quick and sympathetic — fell in with her ideas, 
and she was left at home to wear her green stockings unseen. Now 
another alarm had sprung up in her mind ; a vague alarm, indeed, 
and with no reason that she could put into words. Captain Marion 
had met in the States the daughter of a dear old friend, Colonel 
Rowan, an Irish officer who had served with him during his short 
military career. Colonel Rowan was dead long ago, and his widow 
and daughter had gone out to the United States and taken up their 



26 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

residence with Mrs. Rowan's sister. In some out-of-the-way town — 
or city, its inhabitants would proudly call it — Captain Marion sought 
them out, and so warmly renewed in them his friendship for Colonel 
Rowan, that the daughter was prevailed upon to come over to Eng- 
land with the returning party. Sydney heard of almost nothing but 
the beauty, the grace, the cleverness, the brightness, the accomplish- 
ments, the enthusiasm, the affection, the daughterly tenderness, the 
noble aspirations, and what not of this unique young lady. The 
whole party, Captain Marion, Katherine, Katherine's husband, 
seemed in a conspiracy to sound Miss Rowan's praises. Now an 
alarm arose in Sydney's heart. It was not of the nature that 
Melissa Aquitaine had kindly suggested. She had not the remotest 
idea that her father would marry the incomparable young Irish- 
American. But there was a young man who used to come to see 
the. Aquitaines very often, a young barrister, who belonged to that 
part of the country, and came that circuit waiting for the time when 
he should have briefs ; and Sydney was a good deal taken with him, 
he seemed so straightforward and manly and intelligent; and he 
seemed to like her. He was evidently not in love with Melissa, 
and Melissa did not care about him. He had known her since she 
was a child ; he used to call her " Mel," and chaff her, and be saucily 
chaffed by her, and it was clearly impossible that such two could 
ever be in love. Sydney had sometimes, in the most secret 
recesses of her heart, imagined that he looked at her with eyes of 
kindly emotion. And now, behold ! she is threatened with the 
invasion of a distractingly delightful and wonderful girl, and it is 
certain that the moment young Mr. Fanshawe sees Miss Rowan he 
will fall straightway in love with her. Sydney could not even have 
the luxury of hating the supposed rival. She was unfortunately too 
just in mind for that. She was too like her father. She knew it. 
She knew that if Miss Rowan really turned out worthy of regard, she 
could never help liking her, even though the girl were to come 
between her and her dearest hopes. For the moment Sydney was 
vexed with herself for her absurdly critical and judicial nature, and 
wished she could hate people for nothing, as Katherine would do, 
and feel no scruples of conscience. She was accustomed to think a 
good deal and to study her own mind, and, without any egotism, she 
knew herself and her own weaknesses pretty well, and she knew that 
she had a nervous kind of foible for justice, something akin to a 
physical nervousness, which she could not get over, and which would 
make her impotent to hate even her enemies — if she had any enemies 
— and they were not wholly in the wrong. She looked forward with a 
sinking heart to the coming of this odiously bewitching and cruelly 



The Comet of a Season. 27 

admirable stranger — and Miss Rowan was to go with them to Lon- 
don ; to stay a long time with them there; and young Fanshawe 
lived in London. 

" Come, Miss Marion— come, Mel," Mr. Aquitaine exclaimed one 
morning. "No time to lose; the Transatlantic is signalled. We 
shall only have time to drive down and get on board the tender." 

" The Transatlantic — to-day ? " Sydney exclaimed, turning pale, 
and trembling with delight and with the nervous alarm which even 
delight brings to sensitive and anxious persons. 

" Just so. I didn't tell you she was expected so soon. I didn't 
want you to be exciting yourself before there was any occasion, and 
counting the moments." 

Mr. Aquitaine's shrewd mind had long since seen into the temper 
and nature of Sydney Marion. 

" Now then, young women, get ready. I'll rattle you down in 
rather considerably less than no time. My horses can go like those 
of Mephistopheles." 

" Perhaps you won't care to go, Melissa ? " Sydney said, turning 
to Miss Aquitaine, and putting a kindly hand on her shoulder. She 
did not want Melissa to be tired and bored about people who were 
not Melissa's father and sister. Perhaps, too, Sydney thought she 
could be more free to indulge in all her own feelings without the girl. 

" Indeed I'll go," Melissa promptly answered. " What an unkind 
creature you are, Sydney ! You know I am longing to see Miss 
Rowan and Mr. Trescoe, and you know I am only too glad to go in 
the way of anything out of the regular routine. I want something 
to happen ; not that I think anything will happen to-day." 

"One thing will happen, I can assure you," her father said. 
" We shall be late if you don't be quick ; and I know what Captain 
Marion will feel if he doesn't see his daughter there to meet him." 

They were soon on their way. 

Sydney Marion's heart beat strongly as the tender approached 
the great steamer. She kept straining her eyes anxiously for her 
father's figure long before she could distinguish one form from 
another. As they drew nearer and nearer she still could not see 
him. Now she could plainly see the figure of a tall man who was 
leaning over the side of the steamer, and looking evidently in the 
direction of the tender. That must surely be her father. Her eyes 
were sparkling with anxiety. She was now almost near enough to 
see his face; it did not seem like the outline of her father's. 
Nearer and nearer still ; and now, gazing anxiously up, her eyes are 
met by those of a stranger. His eyes look straight into hers, and 
she looks down in disappointment and with a nameless sensation of 



28 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

discomfort. The man she has seen is handsome ; even in that short 
moment she observed that he had intensely dark hair, and eyes of 
an almost oppressive brilliancy. Then suddenly she sees that Captain 
Marion is just behind or beside this man, and she is vexed that 
any face should have come between her and her father's. She sees 
her sister and her husband and a girl whom she assumes, of course, 
to be Miss Rowan. She is hurried up the ladder and on to the deck 
of the steamer, and her father catches her in his arms. 

Meanwhile, Miss Melissa was not particularly anxious about the 
whole expedition. She was not greatly absorbed in longing to meet 
Sydney's father ; she felt a little interest about the probable appear- 
ance of Sydney's sister, and still more about Miss Rowan. She 
allowed herself to be guided and helped and lifted on to the 
steamer's deck in a dreamy sort of mood, thinking about hardly 
anything except the discomfort of steamers in general and the annoy- 
ance of having friends who had relations coming from America. In 
the eagerness of ail the others of her party, each hurrying forward to 
meet somebody or see somebody, little Melissa found herself almost 
isolated for a moment Every one appeared to have forgotten her — 
a condition of things which was new to her, and which, however 
short its lasting, was not at all agreeable. She hardly knew where 
she was going, when suddenly her feet caught in a rope. She 
staggered and floundered a little, and she might perhaps have fallen 
but for the promptness of a man who stepped forward just at the 
right time, and caught her and lifted her safely over the danger. In 
her odd little languid way she closed her eyes when she found her- 
self slipping, and hardly opened them quite until she knew she was 
firmly and safely on her feet again. There was something strong, 
gentle, and fatherly in the touch of the hand which held her up, and 
she thought perhaps it was Sydney's father, and was inclined to make 
a pretty little filial sort of scene. But opening her eyes, she saw two 
intensely deep, brilliant eyes looking into hers, and saw that a very 
tall dark man was her supporter. She quailed under those strange 
eyes. She felt herself growing red and tremulous. She looked up to 
him again ; their eyes met again. He must have seen that hers 
sank under his look. 

But his face showed not the slightest gleam of interest in her. He 
had not spoken a word as he was helping her out of her little difficulty; 
he appeared to take no more interest in her than he would have done 
in a fallen chair which he happened to lift up. The moment she 
was safely on her feet he drew aside without bowing or uttering a 
word. Melissa tried to say something in the way of thanks, but she 



The Comet of a Season. 29 

could not find speech ; and it did not seem as if he was listening for 
her to speak. He had clearly not given a thought to her. When 
she was a child she had once taken hold of the handles of an electric 
battery, and she received a shock of pain that thrilled all through 
her ; and she could not get her hands away, and she could not cry 
out Melissa now recalled in a strange, sudden way that long-forgotten 
sensation, and seemed to feel it once again. 

In a moment, however, she is in the centre of the group of 
greeting friends, and has to make several new acquaintances all at 
once. The man with the dark eyes is one of them. He is the only 
one of whose presence she is distinctly conscious. He is first 
introduced to her father, and then her father presents him to Melissa, 
and Melissa finds that he is the Mr. Montana, the remarkable fellow - 
passenger. He does not appear to remember or to know that he 
has just given her a helping hand. She can only stammer out a 
wretched unmeaning little word or two, and then somebody else is 
there. She scarcely .knows one from another : she hardly even 
notices Miss Rowan. 

Sydney Marion, too, goes through a series of bewildering 
experiences. She had hardly been released from the loving embrace 
of her father when her sister greeted her with a playful pull at her 
hair. Her brother-in-law gave her a kindly kiss, which would have 
been much less embarrassing if he had not hesitated, as if he did not 
quite know whether he ought to kiss her or not, and then she found 
herself making the acquaintance almost in a breath of her father's 
new friends, Miss Rowan and Mr. Montana. 

Thought formed and reformed itself in a moment within her 
mind. "She is very lovely; no, I don't think she is; she is too thin; 
she has no manner ; no, she has too much manner ; oh, yes, she is 
very charming. But what an extraordinary man ! Is he very hand- 
some, or is he very ugly ? He looks like a prophet. He looks like 
Monte Cristo. Was he buried alive and dug up again ? " 

She found herself close to Melissa as they were all preparing to 
get on board the tender. Melissa looked shaken or affrighted or 
something of the kind ; as if she had fallen and hurt herself, Sydney 
at first imagined. 

" Has anything happened? " she asked in a low voice, and putting 
her arm round the girl. 

" No, nothing," Melissa answered distractedly. Then looking up, 
and with her old manner, she added, " Oh, no ; what could happen ? 
I always told you nothing ever happens." 

{To be continued.) 



30 The Gentleman 1 s Magazine. 



THE FIFTEEN PUZZLE. 

TAKING up, the other day, in a Tasmanian hotel, a copy of a 
Sydney weekly newspaper, I came across an extract from the 
Illustrated London News — a passage in which Mr. Sala comments 
humorously on the now celebrated, or perhaps one should rather say 
the now notorious, Fifteen Puzzle. He therein suggests that a short Act 
of Parliament should be passed " prohibiting, under penalty of heavy 
fine and long imprisonment, all and sundry of her Majesty's subjects 
from playing a dreadful game called ' Fifteen/ and known in the United 
States as the ' Great Boss Puzzle/ " " You have [a box," he says, 
" containing sixteen numbered blocks or counters. You take out the 
number '16'; you mix up the counters in the box so that they will 
run irregularly ; and then your task — your fearful task — is, without 
lifting the tablets from the box, to push them horizontally into a regular 
sequence of from 1 to 15." (The description is not quite correct, by- 
the-by ; however, every one knows what the puzzle really is, and a 
scientifically exact account of it is not required in a humorous de- 
scription.) " ' That way madness lies,' " proceeds Sala ; " but, pshaw ! 
what need have I to describe the fearsome game ? Even as I write, 
thousands of my readers, old and young, may be playing it. If time 
be indeed money, that Great Boss Puzzle must have cost me at least 
a thousand dollars between January and June last I played it at 
Omaha ; I played it at Chicago ; I played it at Great Salt Lake City; 
I played it on board the Heda coming home ; and, upon my word, 
so soon as I have finished writing the ' Echoes/ I shall be at the Great 
Boss Puzzle again. Why was it not stopped at the Custom House ? 
Why was it not brought under the provisions of dangerous explosives 
or cattle-plague laws ? There would be no use in proceeding against 
the persons who have naturalised this appalling apparatus in England. 
Our old friend, ' the merest schoolboy,' can make a game of Fifteen for 
himself from so many buttons or draught-counters. It is the players 
who, in the interests of precious time, should be punished." 

I myself took some part, sad to say, in naturalising the fearsome 

in England For about the time when the Boss Puzzle was 

1 —I Mild say, most mischievous — in America, I sent a 

x> \ NewcastU Weekly Chronicle. I accompanied that 



The Fifteen Puzzle. 31 

description, however, with "a statement that the problem can be "proved 
to be soluble in certain positions, and insoluble in others. In fact, 
from any one of more than ten million positions the problem can be 
solved, while from precisely the same number of positions it cannot. 
Unfortunately, I went on to say that if any one were to assert that he had 
brought the blocks to their light position from one of the positions of the 
insoluble class, or had seen the feat achieved, he must either be mis- 
taken or else tell an untruth. This remark, perfectly true and altogether 
innocent of offence, seeing^that I knew of no readers of the Newcastle 
Weekly Chronicle who had asserted or were prepared to assert any such 
thing, excited the wrath of many who, as they doubtless supposed, had 
succeeded in solving the problem in all possible positions. 

As the proof referred to in the NewcasttelVeekly Chronicle — as far back, 
I think, as last March (I wrote my remarks on the puzzle at Chicago last 
February) — is exceedingly simple, and may prevent many (or theoretic- 
ally should certainly prevent all) from wasting their time over insoluble 
positions of the Fifteen Puzzle, 1 think many readers of the Gentleman's 
Magazine may be interested if I indicate briefly and simply how the 
demonstration runs. It occurred to me a few hours after I had seen 
the puzzle, and seems so simple and obvious, that I can scarcely 
imagine how others have failed to notice it Yet it has not, to my 
knowledge, been given elsewhere. Moreover.I have seen several 
attempts to analyse the puzzle, some by mathematicians of repute 
and even of eminence, in which incorrect reasons have been assigned 
for the insolubility of the problem from certain positions, and incorrect 
rules laid down for distinguishing soluble from insoluble positions. 
The rule resulting from the following analysis is, I believe, the only 
correct one, though it is quite possible there maybe others, apparently 
independent, which are, however, in reality deducible from it. 

First, let us consider what the puzzle really 
is, because it has been through mistaken ideas 
on this point that many have been led to suppose 
they had solved the problem from insoluble posi- 
tions, when, in reality, they had done nothing of 
the kind. 

We have a square box containing sixteen 
square blocks, numbered in order from 1 to 16. *' G ' *' 

The sixteenth block is removed, so that the position of the blocks is 
that shown in Fig. 1. This is called the won position, viz. that in 
which the blocks read in succession, as we read printed matter (that 
is, each line from left to right, and line after line in numerical order), 
run in the order of the numbers from 1 to 15, the vacant square 
being on thefimrtk or last line. 



■ a 3 4 

13 14 I J5 I 





I 2 


J 


4 

s 


S|6 
• t= 


7 


IJ 


>J '4 


'5 



4 18 U 

3 7 ii '5 

al 6 io 14 

i i 5 9 »3 



32 The Gentlemaiis Magazine. 

The blocks are nest arranged in any random order (which must 
not be done solely by shifting the blocks one by one from the won 
position without taking any out). The problem is then to bring the 
numbers into the " won position " without removing any, that is, by 
simply shifting them one by one into places successively vacated. It 
is to be noted that the "won position" must be obtained precisely 
as pictured in Fig. 1, or as denned above. Many seem to imagine that 
the problem is solved if either such a position as that shown in 
Fig. 2 or that shown in Fig. 3 is attained. But this is not the 

case. In fact, both these 

positions belong to the in- 
soluble class. They not only 

are not won positions, but 

the true won position cannot 

possibly be obtained from 

either of them. It ought, 

perhaps, to be unnecessary 
to add that the problem cannot be -fairly solved by taking the 6 
and 9 and replacing them each in their own space, but inverted so 
that they read as 9 and 6 respectively (a change which also alters a 
position from the insoluble to the soluble class, and vice vend) ; but, 
as some seem to imagine the charge permissible, it may be as well to 
mention that it is not. In fine, the problem is, from any random 
position of the fifteen numbers to obtain the precise position shown in 
Fig. r without removing any one of the blocks otherwise than sliding 
it into a neighbouring vacant square. 

Before proceeding to discuss the puzzle, it may be well to inquire 
whether time given to such matters is not altogether wasted. I 
believe that any problems requiring for their solution the exercise of 
patience and ingenuity serve a useful purpose ; but it must be 
admitted that some are much less useful than others, while some 
require so much time, and call into action faculties of such small 
value, that their use as exercises in patience affords but a small com- 
pensation for the time devoted to them. Nine- tenths of the puzzles, 
charades, rebuses, acrostics, and so forth, in periodical literature, are 
unfortunately of this kind. But problems like the Fifteen Puzzle, 
Chinese puzzles, and others, serve as a means of mental training 
almost as well as problems in mathematics. That is, they do so if 
dealt with in the right way. For there is a right way and a wrong 
way, even in dealing with the simplest puzzles. The wrong way is to 
set to work in haphazard fashion, trusting to the chapter of accidents 
for the solution. The right way is to reason the matter out step by 
step, proceeding from the known to the unknown in the simplest 



The Fifteen Puzzle. 33 

puzzle, precisely as the student of science strives to pass from the 
known to the unknown in dealing with some great problem of nature. 

Now, suppose we examine first the won position ; passing from 
it to others, by simply shifting the blocks in the manner allowed 
when dealing with any ordinary or random presentation of the puzzle. 
It is clear that any position attained by shifting the blocks thus from 
the places shown in Fig. 1 must be a winning position, since we have 
only to retrace the steps by which such a position has been obtained 
to come again into the won position. 

We can push block 15 to the vacant corner square, and 14 next 
to 15, and 13 next to 14. By these changes we do not alter the 
sequence of the numbers, reading them in the same way as we read 
printed matter. Nor do we alter the number of the row on which 
the vacant square lies, counting the horizontal lines as we count the 
lines of printed matter. We alter only the position of the vacant 
square in its horizontal line, or the position of the column containing 
the vacant square. But we begin already to see that this change is 
of far less importance than a change in the number of the line con- 
taining the vacant square. For the numerical sequence, the arrange- 
ment of which is the main aim of any movements for solving the 
problem from a random position, is not affected at all by shifting a 
block horizontally. 

Replace the shifted blocks as at first, and try the effect of vertically 
shifting them. 

Bring block 12 to the vacant square. By this change three blocks, 
viz. 13, 14, and 15, are thrown out of their proper position ; all the 
rest, from 1 to t 1, should precede 12, and do so ; but these three which 
now follow should precede 1 2. There are then three displacements, 
and the vacant square has been shifted from the fourth to the third line. 
Push down next the 8 block. Then there are six displacements 
(9, 10, 11 preceding instead of following 8, and 13, 14, 15 preceding 
instead of following 12). The vacant square has been shifted to the 
second line. Shifting down the 4 block, there are nine displacements, 
and the vacant square has been shifted to the first line. In all three 
cases, the vacant square is in the fourth column. 

Push back the shifted blocks, resuming the won position ; and, 
having shifted 1 5 to the corner square, push down successively 1 1, 
7, and 3. 

When 11 is pushed down, there are three displacements (12, 13, 
and 14 preceding instead of following 11), and the vacant square is on 
the third line ; when 7 is pushed down there are six displacements, 
and the vacant square is on the second line ; and, lastly, when 3 is 
pushed down there are nine displacements, and the vacant square is 

vol. ecu no. 1801. d 



34 The Gentlemaris Magazine. 

on ihejirst line. In all three cases the vacant square is in the third 
column. 

These results are the same as when the blocks 12, S, and 4 were 
pushed successively down in the fourth column ; and we get the 
same results if, after resuming the won position, we push both 14 and 
15 to the right, bringing the vacant square to the second column, 
and then push successively 10, 6, and 3 down ; or if we push 13, 14, 
and 15 down, bringing the vacant square to the first column, and 
then push down successively 9, 5, and 1. 

Lei us now arrange the twelve cases just considered, and inquire 
if any law begins to appear among these twelve winning positions. 
The cases run thus : - 






3«1.. 



tath . 



It is obvious from this table that if we are seeking in the right 
direction for some law by which to distinguish winning positions 
from losing ones, assuming (as at this stage of the inquiry we can 
but do) that such a law exists, we need pay no further attention to 
the number of the column on which lies the vacant square. We 
see that when the number of displacements is even, the number of 
the partially vacant line is also even ; while where the number of the 
displacements is od<i, the number of the partially vacant line is also 
odd ; but the number of the partially vacant column varies from odd 
to even, and from even to odd, independently of any change in the 
other tabulated relations. 

To make one further trial of known winning positions before ex- 
amining a random position, push down the 11, rr 
to the right, and then 15 up, getting the position 
shown in Fig. 4. Here there are six displace- 
ments, 15 coining before ir, 13, 14, and 13, 
instead of coming after those four numbers, and 
13 and 14 each coming before instead of after 
1 a. The vacant square is on the fourth line. 
Thus the number of displacements and the num- 
*" T of the partially vacant line are both even. Bring down the 15 



The Fifteen Puzzle. 



I 


■| 3 


4 


5 


«l 


S 


9 


id | f 


" 


'3 


'4 \ ■$ 


13 



35 

again (I take no special notice of the position thus attained, because 
it is the same as case i of the above table, except as to the Dumber 
of the partially vacant column, which we have 
seen to have no significance whatever). Push 
down the 7 into the vacant square, getting the 
position of Fig. 5. In this position there are s, 
displacements (S, 9, 10 before 7, and 13, 14, 1 
before 1 2), and the vacant square is on the second 
row; or, again, the law that the number of dis- 
placements and the number of the partially vacant 
line are either both even or both odd is fulfilled. So also it is fulfilled 
if from the position of Fig. 5 we push down the 3 ; for then it will be 
found that there are nine discrepancies, while the partially vacant 
line is fae. first. 

This, then, seems likely enough to be a law for ait winning 
positions : that the total number of discrepancies as regards nume- 
rical sequence, and the number of the partially vacant line, are either 
both even or both odd. 

I might, indeed, go on in this way — that is, starting from the 
won position — and establish the law just indicated without further 
ado. But I prefer to attack the puzzle now from the other end — 
that is, starting from a random position — taking the hint thus 
obtained for our guidance. I do this, first, because it was in this 
way that I actually analysed the Fifteen Puzzle ; and, secondly, 
because I believe that non-mathematical readers will find their 
aperpt of the subject clearer after a second review of the primary 
considerations on which the analysis depends. 

I take, then, the random position shown in Fig. 6, already em- 
ployed in analysing the Fifteen Puzzle for the Australasian, to which 
weekly journal I sent an account of the puzzle early in the year 
1880. 

Guided by what we have already seen, we first count the number 
of discrepancies in the arrangement of Fig. 6. 
(For convenience, I shall hereafter call the 
number of discrepancies in any given case the 
"total discrepancy"; and instead of saying 
the number of the partially vacant line is odd 
or even, as the case may be, I shall say simply 
the vacant line is odd or even.) We may 
count the discrepancies thus, our examination 
running along the numbers in the order of the lines, as in 
reading:— 



'.) 


'4 


>: 


4 


5 


' 




8 


3 


7 


IS • 


'3 


10 


6 11 



36 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

Discrepanci 

12 which follows should precede 14 1 

4 >. » 9» *4» 12 3 

5 » » 9. 14* 12 3 

1 „ i> 9, I4» 12, 4, 5 5 

8 „ 11 9, I4» 12 3 

3 11 >» 9. 14. 12, 4, 5, 8 6 

7 I. » 9» 14, 12, 8 4 

2 „ ,1 9, I4» 12, 4, 5, 8, 3, 7, 15 9 

13 11 »f Hi 15 *• 2 

10 „ „ 141 12, 15, 13 4 

6 „ „ 9» 14, 12, 8, 7, 15, 13, 10 8 

11 m n 14* 12, is, 13 4 

Total discrepancy 52 

Thus the total discrepancy is even, and the vacant line is also 
even ; so that, if our suggested law is correct, the position should be 
a winning one. 

Let us now consider the effect of any change in the position of 
the blocks from the arrangement shown in Fig. 6. What we want to 
ascertain is whether, when any such change has been made, by 
sliding without removing blocks, the position retains the charac- 
teristics which we have been led to regard as indicative of a winning 
position. 

It is clear that, whether we push the 1 or the 8 into the vacant 
place, the "total discrepancy" remains unchanged. If, however, 
we shift the 12 to the vacant position, the total discrepancy is 
altered; for the numbers 4, 5, and 1, which should precede 12, but 
did not in the original position, are now made to do so. The " total 
discrepancy " is reduced from 52 to 49, the vacant line from the 
second to the first. Thus, the law we are inquiring into still seems to 
hold good, for now both the total discrepancy and the vacant line 
are odd. So also it holds if, instead of pushing down the 12, we 
push up the 15. For in this case the numbers 3, 7, and 8, which 
should precede 15, and did precede 15 in the original position, 
are made to follow 15, the " total discrepancy " being thus increased 
from 52, an even number, to 55, an odd number, while the vacant 
line is also changed from even to odd. In all the cases thus far 
considered the total discrepancy has either been increased or 
diminished by three, when a block has been pushed up or down. 
But if after pushing 15 (Fig. 6) up, we push 6 up, we only change 
the discrepancy (55) by one ; for 6, which had followed and should 
follow 2, is made to precede 2, increasing the total discrepancy by 
one, while 13 and 10, which had not followed 6 as they should, are 
made to do so, decreasing the total discrepancy by two, the actual 
reduction being therefore only one. Thus, after this change the total 



The Fifteen Puzzle. 37 

discrepancy is 54, an even number ; the vacant line is the fourth, or 
also even ; and the law we are considering seems to be fulfilled after 
this change as after the others. 

But we begin now to see that every vertical displacement of one 
block must increase or diminish the total discrepancy, either by the 
odd number three or by the odd number one. An upward displace- 
ment puts a number before three others which had been after those 
numbers. Now, either the displaced number is greater than all those 
three or greater than two of them, and less than one, or greater than 
one of them only and less than two, or less than all three of them. 
In the first case, the total discrepancy is increased by three \ in the 
second, it is increased by two and reduced by one, or increased on 
the whole by one; in the third it is increased by one and reduced 
by two, or reduced on the whole by one ; in the fourth case, the 
total discrepancy is reduced by three. And obviously, pushing down 
a block must exactly reverse these effects in the respective cases 
considered; either reducing the total discrepancy by three or by 
o/ie, or increasing it by one or by three. 

Since, then, each vertical change increases or diminishes the total 
discrepancy by an odd number (3 or 1), successive changes of this 
sort cause the total discrepancy to be alternately odd and even. 
They also, of course, cause the vacant line to be alternately odd or 
even. So that, if the total discrepancy and the vacant line are both 
odd or both even for any given position, they are both even or both 
odd after a vertical displacement, both odd or both even after the 
next vertical displacement, both even or both odd after the next ; 
and so on continually, that is (since horizontal displacements pro- 
duce no change at all in them), they remain always alike, both even 
or both odd, whatever changes are made. On the other hand, it is 
equally clear that if for any given position the " total discrepancy " is 
odd and the vacant line even, the former will be even and the latter 
odd after a vertical displacement; one odd, the other even, after the 
next vertical displacement; and so on continually; that is (since 
horizontal displacements produce no change at all in them), they 
remain always unlike — one odd, the other even — whatever changes 
are made. 

Since, then, in the won position the total discrepancy (o) is even, 
and the vacant line (4th) is also even, in every position deducible 
from the won position or reducible to the won position, the total 
discrepancy and the vacant line are either both even or both odd 
And therefore no position in which the total discrepancy is even 
and the vacant line* odd, or vice versd, can possibly be a winning 
position. 



1 


2 


3 


•I 


5 


6 


7 


S 


9 


ro M 


a 


13 


ii 


I* 





38 Tke Gentleman's Magazine, 

We have established a law which at any rate 
proves the hopelessness of attempting to pass from 
the position shown in Fig. 7, or from any position 
deducible from or reducible to this arrangement, 
to the won position shown in Fig. 1. For in Fig. 7, 
the discrepancy is one or odd, and the vacant 
line even. This, with many, will be regarded as a 
F,a ' '' sufficient analysis of the Fifteen Puzzle, since every 

one who has ever tried it knows well that we can always reduce any 
given position in a few minutes, either to the position shown in Fig. r 
(the won position), or to that shown in Fig. 7, which may conveniently 
be called the lost position. 

But in reality something more is required for the complete 
analysis of the puzzle. We have proved that from none of the 
multitudinous positions (one-half of the total number) in which the 
total discrepancy is odd and the vacant line even, or vice vend, can 
any position be obtained in which the total discrepancy and the 
vacant line are either both even or both odd ; also, that from not one 
of the multitudinous positions of the latter kind (say the winning 
kind) can one of the former kind (say the losing kind) be obtained. 
But we have not yet proved that from any position of the winning 
sort any other position of the winning sort, including the won 
position, can be obtained; or from any position of the losing sort 
any other position of the same sort, including the lost position. 

We cannot possibly prove either of these relations experimentally, 
for the simple reason that there are more than ten millions of 
millions of positions of the winning sort, and as many of the losing 
sort. 1 

1 There are in each position fifteen occupied squares and one square unoccu- 
pied, which square we may always suppose to be occupied by the Dumber 16. The 
lotal possible number of arrangements, therefore, is the same as the number of 
permutations of 16 things (all appearing in each arrangement, which is, indeed, 
understood usually by mathematicians when they use the word permutation as 
distinguished from combination). This number, it is well known, is that obtained 
by multiplying together the numbers I, 2, 3,4,&c, up to J.6, or 20,922,789,888,000. 
Of these, one-half, or 10,461,394,944,000, are winning and as many are losing 

I venture to quote here, in passing, some remarks which I made in my article 
on the Fifteen Puzzle in the Australasian — remarks not, of course, intended to be 
taken au grand slriiux, but which were unfortunately so taken by a few whom I 
must consider rather dull-brained readers. "Professor Piazii Smythe, and other 
believers in the Great Pyramid, may find in the above numbers proof positive 
that the architects of that building at once anticipated the celebrity of the Great 
Boss Puzzle, and were acquainted'with the distance of the star Alpha Centauri, 
the nearest of all (he stars. The proof runs thus: The base of the pyramid is 
square, like the Fifteen Punic box, and has four sides, suggesting manifestly the 



The Fifteen Puzzle. 



39 



Yet it is not difficult to prove that from any winning position any 
other winning position, and from any losing any other losing position, 
may be obtained. The demonstration may be arranged as follows : — 

When we take a square of four small squares only, and have three 
numbered blocks (say i, 2, 3) and one vacant square, we can shift 
these round from any given position into twelve positions, as thus : — 

3rd 4th 5th 



xst 



2nd 



6th 



I 
3 


2 


7th 


2 


3 
1 



1 


2 




3 


8th 


3 
2 




1 



1 


2 
3 


9lh 


3 

2 


1 



10th 



3 1 

2 



2 


3 


I 




nth 




1 


3 


2 



2 


3 




1 


1 2th 


I 

3 




2 



Fig. 8. 

These are only half the possible positions of the numbers 1, 2, 3, 
in a square of four quarter-squares. The other half will be obtained 
by starting from the position \ ~ and carrying the vacant 

shown, for the series of 

position 



1 3 
2 



square round in the way above 
12 positions from the initial 

In this, the simplest case, we see that starting 
any given position, half the possible arrangements 



1 2 
3 



from 
of 



three numbers in a vacant square can be obtained, and half only ; but 
if the sequence of the numbers (going round the square) be altered 
from 1, 2, 3 to 1, 3, 2, or vice vcrsA? all the remaining positions can 

division of each side into four equal parts, and, by cross lines through these, the 
division of the square into sixteen squares. But the pyramid has only one apex ; 
hence is at once suggested the removal of one of the sixteen squares, leaving the 
magic Fifteen. Then the Fifteen Problem admits of 20,922,789,888,000 distinct 
positions. Now, ail the best measurements of the distance of Alpha Centauri 
indicate rather more than 20 billions of miles. Unquestionably the true distance 
must be just 20,922,789,888,000 miles ; and this the pyramid architects manifestly 
knew. But they could not have learned this by any observations possible in their 
time. Hence we have further evidence of supernaturally imparted knowledge. 
Quod erat demonstrandum." 

1 There are only two possible arrangements, 1, 2, 3, I, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, &c, 
and I, 3, 2, 1, 3, 2, 1, 3, 2, &c, so far as sequence round the square is con- 
cerned. Further, in each arrangement the numbers run in numerical order, either 
in one direction or in another. It was from failing to notice this law in the sequence 
of three numbers that Humboldt was led to imagine that there is some significance 
in the circumstance that the three promontories terminating the continents of 
America, Africa, and Australia, in the southern seas, approach successively 
nearer to the South Pole. As there are only three, they could not but do so, 
either as we take them in order from east to west, or else as we take them in order 
from west to east. The point is considered more at length in my essay on equal- 
surface projections of the globe in " Essays on Astronomy." 



40 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

be obtained. The movements by which such positions are obtained 
may be regarded as a turning movement around the central point of 
the square ; and in this case there is but one point around which such 
turning movement can be made. Moreover, notice that it matters 
nothing which way the turning takes place. The successive positions 
shown in Fig. 8 form a complete re-entering series, and according as 
we consider this series in the order there shown, or in the reverse 
order, the turning is supposed to have taken place in the same 
direction as the hands of a watch or in the reverse direction. 

Now, it is to be noticed that in the complete puzzle, or in a similar 
puzzle with a smaller or greater number of rectangles (as a 9 square, 
or a 25 square, or a 3 by 4 rectangle, or a 5 by 6 rectangle, and 
so forth), every point of intersection of the cross lines forming the 
squares is a centre round which, by bringing the vacant square next 
to any such point, the three blocks left around it can be turned, as 
in the above case we turned the numbers 1,2, 3. But we can also 
turn the numbers round any line between such points of intersection. 
Thus, in the won position of Fig. 1, the blocks 15, 14, 10, 11, 12, can 
be turned round the line between the blocks 11 and 15, retaining the 
same sequence round the rectangle of six squares in which these 
blocks and the vacant square lie ; and similarly with any other such 
line between two squares. Again, the blocks 15, 14, 13, 9, 10, 11, 
and 1 2 in the same figure can be turned round the line between the 
blocks 14, n, and 14, 15. Next, the blocks round any one of the 
middle squares can be moved round [such squares (after the vacant 
square has been brought next to it). Thus the blocks 15, 14, 10, 6, 
7, 8, and 12, Fig. 1, can be moved round the block 1 1. So the blocks 
round any adjacent pair of the blocks now occupied by the number, 
6, 7, 10, and 11, in Fig. 1, can be turned round that pair (as, 12, 8, 
7> 6> 5, 9, 13, 14, 15 round the pair 10, 11). And lastly, the border 
squares can be turned round the central set of four squaresoccupied 
in Fig. 1 by the numbers 6, 7, 10, 11. 

In all, in the complete puzzle, there are thirty-six kinds of turning 
motion, namely : round nine points of intersection, round twelve lines 
between squares, round six lines between pairs of squares, round four 
squares, round four pairs of squares, and round one square of four square. 

In what follows, I propose, for convenience of description and 
explanation, to regard rotations such as are above described 
as always taking place in one direction, viz. in the direction 
contrary to that in which the hands of a watch move (this being what 
mathematicians call the positive direction of rotation) ; and when I 
speak of rotation round a rectangle or square of blocks, whether the 
*rhole set or part of a set shown in a figure, I mean that the border 



I 2 3 
4 5 



The Fifteen Puzzle. 41 

squares in that rectangle'are to be rotated round ; also when I speak 
of rotation by so many squares I mean that the vacant square is to 
be carried round in the forward direction of rotation so many squares. 
At first sight it might appear, in studying Fig. 8, that the vacant 
square was carried the other way round — and, indeed, this is the case 
if we consider the blocks as moved separately. But in what follows 
we suppose, unless the contrary is specified, that the set of blocks to 
be rotated are carried round together. For instance, we consider there 
has been a rotation of one square in moving from position 1 to position 
4, of another square in moving to position 7, of another in moving to posi- 
tion 10, and of a fourth in moving onwards to the original position 1. 

So much premised, I proceed to show, step by step, that in rect- 
angles and squares six, eight, nine, twelve, and finally of sixteen blocks, 
we can always pass from any position to another of the same kind. 

In Fig. 9 we have the won position for fis^ blocks in a six-block 
rectangle. Let it be required to get any three a 
blocks in given order in the upper row, which is 
" equivalent " to getting any given or possible ar- 
rangement of the five blocks. The two blocks which 
are to be where 2 and 3 are now must either be C B 

next to each other (in order of sequence round the Fic - 9- 

rectangle) or not. If they are not, bring the one which is to occupy 
square 3 to that square by rotating round rectangle A B, then the 
corner vacant in figure will be occupied by some other block than 
the one required to be in square 2. Rotate round AC till this 
block comes to square 2. Now bring these two squares by rota- 
tion round AB to the right-hand column; and rotate the other 
round A C till the one which is to be in square 1 is in square 2. 
Then a forward rotation by one square round A B brings the three 
numbers into the required position. If the two numbers to occupy 
squares 2 and 3 were originally adjacent and in wrong order, we must 
separate them by rotating round A B till either the top or bottom row 
are occupied by the two numbers and a vacant square between them, 
into which vacant square we put the middle block of the bottom or top 
row, as the case may be. After this the above method can be applied. 

So that in every case the top row, or any three squares in sequence 
round A B, may be occupied by any three blocks we please in any order. 

We cannot do more than this, for only two blocks remain, and 
it may be shown for such a rectangle as A B, precisely as for the 
original puzzle, that one-half the possible arrangements, though inter- 
changeable inter se % are not interchangeable with arrangements 
belonging to the other half. 1 

1 The total discrepancy and the vacant line in all positions reducible to that 



-I_*H]_ 



42 7Ha Gentleman's Magazine. 

Next take the case of a rectangle of eight squares, as A B, Fig. 10, 
A c where the won position for such a rectangle is 

shown. What we have to do in this case is to 
get a given set of five blocks, in assigned order, 
into the squares 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. First, as in 
the last case, we get the two blocks which are 
" G " "' to occupy the squares sand 4 into these 

squares, and, by rotating backwards round C B, we bring them into 
the right-hand column. The remaining blocks of the five belong to 
the last case, since they are in a rectangle (A D) of six squares. We 
bring them into proper sequence, but in the squares 1, 2, 3 (instead 
of 5, 1, 2, which they are eventually to occupy). Then all the five 
blocks are in proper sequence, and a rotation of one square round 
A B brings them into the proper squares 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 

Next take a square of nine squares, as A B, where the won 
position for such a square is shown. What we 
have to show in this case is that a given set of six 
blocks can be brought, in a given order, into the 
squares 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. Now, of the blocks to 
occupy squares 1, 2, 3, two, at least, must be in 
one or other of the rectangles CB,DB. According 
r * as two such are in C B or B D, bring them to 
position 2, 3, or 4, 7, in their right order of 
sequence as around A B. In each case, shift them by rotating round 
5 to the position 3, 6, and the vacant square to the corner B. Then, 
if the third block is at 2, 5, or 8, the case belongs to that first dealt 
with, the three blocks to be placed being in a rectangle (C B) of six 
squares, one vacant. Bring them in right sequence (as around 5) to the 
squares 2, 3, 6, and by a rotation of one square to the position r, 2, 
3. If the third block is at 1 or at 4, shift the blocks in 5, 8, bringing 
8 to the corner B, and then A E is a disc-squared rectangle con- 
taining the three given blocks and one vacant square, and the three 
blocks can be brought in the required order to the squares 1, 2, 3. 
If the third block is at 7, rotate 3, 6, and the vacant square round 
C B to the positions 8, 5, 2, and again the three given blocks are in 
a six-square rectangle (A F), and can be brought to the required 
order in squares 7, 4, 1, and thence rotated round A B to squares 1, 
2, 3. These are all possible cases ; and as, after thus correctly filling 
the squares 1, 2, 3, the remaining five blocks are in a six-square rect- 
angle D B, we can arrange them in any order we please except as 
regards the two which, in the final position, occupy squares 7 and 8. 
>r both odd ; in all other positions one Is 



a 13 4 

6 ? 8 



r>4* FifUm PuszU. 43 

Next take a rectangle of four squares by three, as A 15, fig. 12, 
where the won position for such a rectangle is t ^ 
shown. Here we have to show that a given 
set of nine blocks can be brought, in a given 
order, into the squares 1, 2,3,4,5, 6 > 7> 8,and 
9. It will-be most convenient in this case to 
begin by getting into the squares 1, 5, 9, the 
proper blocks for those squares. (It will be 
seen at once, from what follows, that if the 
rectangle were three squares broad and four high, instead of three 
high and four broad, we should begin by the top row of three, the 
same method applying in all Other respects to each case.) Now, of 
the three blocks for the left-hand column, two must be either in the 
square C B or in the rectangle D B. In the former case they can 
be brought at once to the squares 4, 8, in the latter they can be 
brought to 5, 9, and rotated round A B to the squares 4, 8. Let the 
vacant square be then brought to the corner B, if not already there. 
Then, if the third block of the three is in the square C B, the last 
case enables us at once to bring the three in the right sequence to the 
squares 2, 3, 4, whence they can be rotated round A B to the 
required squares 1, 5, 9. If the third block is at 1 or 5, shift the 
blocks 6, 10, and n (n to corner square). This frees the square 5, 
and the second case enables us to bring the three blocks to squares 

1, z, 3, in the rectangle A E, whence we rotate them to 1, 5, 9. If 
the third block is at 9, rotate 4, 8, and the vacant square to the 
positions 1 1, 7, 3, and then the three blocks are in a square of nine 
squares (A F), and can be brought at once in the required order to 
the squares r, 5, 9. Then the rest of the rectangle, namely, the 
square C B, can be arranged, as shown in the last case, so that all the 
blocks, except those for the squares 10, n, are in assigned positions. 

Note, also, that in this case we might have begun by getting into 
the right position the four blocks intended to occupy the squares i, 

2, 3, 4. Thus, having first got the blocks for the squares 2, 3, 4, into 
the squares 9, 5, 1, in the way already shown for any three blocks, we 
bring to the square 10 the block intended for square 1, doing this by 
rotation around C B or C F, as the case may require, without touching 
the blocks in 1,5, 9 ; then rotation around A B brings the four blocks 
into the required squares, r, 2, 3, 4, in the assigned order. 

Lastly, we reach the case of the Fifteen Puzzle itself, shown in the 
won position in Fig. 1, and again in Fig. 13. We have to show that a 
given set of 13 of these blocks can be brought to the squares 1, 2, 
3> 4i 5- 6 i 7> 8> 9> io i 1J > ia > J 3> ' n an assigned order. Here the 
reasoning is of precisely the same kind as in the two preceding 



I 


a 


3 


4 


5 


6 


' 


S 


9 


to 


» 




! '3 


>4 


'5 


: 



44 7'^ Gentleman's Magazine. 

paragraphs. Three of the four blocks meant for squares i, a, 3, 4, 
„ must be either in the rectangle] C B or in the 

rectangle D B. In either case we can bring 
them (directly in one case, by rotation around 
D B in the other) to the squares 4, 8, 12. If 
the remaining block is in the oblong C F, we 
1 " . 1 ** 1e get the four into right order, down the right- 
hand column of the oblong C B by the last 
case, and rotate to the required squares r 
*' a ' ' 3 ' 2, 3, 4. If the fourth block is in one of the 

squares 1, 5, 9, rotate the blocks in 11, rs (bringing the one in 15 
to corner B), and then the four blocks lie in the oblong A E, and can 
be brought to the squares r, z, 3, 4, as in last case. Lastly, if the 
fourth block is at 13, push down the blocks in 4, 8, 12, rotate those 
in 7, 3, bringing the one in 3 to corner square 4, and then the four 
blocks are in the oblong D B, and can be brought into the lowest 
row in the required order, as in the last case, and thence rotated to 
the squares 1, 2, 3, 4. After this, the rest of the square, namely, the 
oblong D B, can be arranged, as shown in the last case, so that all the 
blocks, except those in the squares 14, 15, are in assigned positions. 

I might here go on to show that in any square or oblong what- 
ever, no matter how great the number of blocks in the length and 
breadth, all except the two can be brought into any assigned order. 
To do this, all that would be necessary would be to show that, if in 
an oblong or square of given numbers of blocks in length and 
breadth the blocks can so be arranged, they can also be arranged 
in an oblong or square having one more row added either to its 
length or breadth. For then, having already shown that we can so 
arrange an oblong of two by three, an oblong of two by four, a square 
of three by three, an oblong of three by four, and a square of four by 
four, it follows that we can similarly arrange an oblong of three by 
five and of four by five, a square of five by five, and so on, without 
limit. But I leave this as an exercise for the reader, noting only that 
the method is precisely similar to that by which the last case above 
dealt with was obtained from the last but one, that from the pre- 
ceding, and so forth. 

In a paper which appeared in the Australasian for August 21, 
r88o, I have proved the above relations, and also the general case, in 
another way, not quite so simple but more concise ; showing that from 
any given position a certain number of positions must always be obtain- 
able, and that number being (with the given posidon) exactly one-half 
of the total number of possible arrangements, must include all the cases 
of its own kind, that is, either winning or losing, as the case may be. 



The Fifteen Puzzle. 45 

I have there also established the following rules for distinguishing 
winning from losing positions in an oblong or rectangle of any 
number of squares in the length and breadth. 

First, if the number both of horizontal and vertical rows be even 
(as in the Fifteen Puzzle), the won position, in which the blocks 
succeed each other in numerical sequence, following the lines as in 
reading, and leaving the last square vacant, can be obtained from any 
position in which the "total discrepancy" and the number of the 
partly vacant square are either both even or both odd ; but if the 
" total discrepancy " is even and the number of the partly vacant line 
odd, or vice versd, the won position cannot be obtained. 

Secondly, if the number of horizontal rows be odd, and the num . 
ber of vertical rows even, then the won position can be obtained if 
the " total discrepancy " is even and the number of the partly vacant 
line odd, or vice versA. But if the " total discrepancy " and the 
number of the incomplete line are either both odd or both even, the 
won position cannot be obtained. 

Thirdly and Fourthly. If the number of vertical rows be odd, 
then, whether the number of horizontal lines be (iii) even or (iv) odd, 
the won position can be obtained if the " total discrepancy " is even, 
and cannot be obtained if the " total discrepancy " is odd. 

These four laws include all possible cases. 

Let me add, in conclusion, that the total number of possible 
arrangements in a square of ten blocks in the side is so great, that if 
we imagine each case represented by a tiny globe one millionth of an 
inch in diameter, and these globes gathered in the form of a great 
sphere, the extent of that sphere would be greater than that of the 
entire region of space over which the mightiest telescope yet made 
by man extends his survey, though, from the remotest star reached 
by such a telescope, light, with its stupendous velocity of 187,000 
miles a second, takes thousands of years in reaching this earth. 

It may be noticed, in conclusion, that the above study of the ways 
of solving the puzzle for six-block and eight-block rectangles will be 
found to indicate the proper way of dealing with the only cases of 
difficulty which ever arise in dealing with the Fifteen Puzzle. I wrote 
the whole of this paper, for instance, without having before me any 
actual set of blocks, simply drawing mental pictures of the various 
cases before writing the paragraphs respectively relating to them. 
Yet, on the first trial with the actual puzzle, I found that four 
or five minutes sufficed to resolve any position into the final (won 
or lost) position of its own kind ; and after half-an-hour's practice 
(based on the principles above explained) I found the solutions 
averaged only two minutes. richard a. proctor. 



46 The Gentleman's Magazine. 



THE DISCROWNED JINGO. 

JINGOISM is not dead, and it would not be prudent to assume 
even that it is sleeping. It is a passion too deeply implanted 
in the human breast to afford reasonable hope of its final 
eradication. It is one of the touches of nature that make the whole 
world kin. We call it Jingoism in England, in France it is called 
Chauvinism, and in the United States Bunkum. Seen across the 
Atlantic, or even over the narrower seas that divide us from France, 
we laugh at it, and thank heaven we are not as other men are — as 
this poor Yankee with his bird o } freedom, or as these French colonels 
with their baggy red trousers and their blustering demand to be led 
in flat-bottomed boats to the shores of England. But when the 
time comes we succumb to infection ourselves, and are as foolish as 
any of our kin across the sea. The seeds of disease are sown in our 
constitution, and in due course we break forth into a sort of 
delirious idiocy in which we see visions of England maintaining her 
" ascendency in the councils of Europe," and dream dreams of what 
noble fellows we are personally, and what abject cravens are those 
who will not shriek with us or march to and fro defiant at beat of 
circus drum. 

It is an essential part of Jingoism that its warlike spirit should 
never carry it further than this theatrical marching and counter- 
marching, and that, since the drum is the proper accompaniment of 
its martial ebullition, the particular instrument selected should be the 
gaily painted cylinder of the circus. The attitude of the Jingo in view 
of actual hostilities is set forth with charming frankness in the famous 
couplet of his battle-song : — 

We don't want to fight, but by Jingo if we do, 

We've got the ships, we've got the men, we've got the money too. 

Observe, " we don't want to fight." On the contrary, we prefer to 
stop at home and bray. If it comes to the worst, and there follows, 
in consequence of our shrieking, what Mr. Mantalini (who, if he had 
lived in the year 1877, would certainly have been a Jingo) calls 
" demnition hard knocks," we don't mind paying a small share of 
the cost of war. We have got (he men, fellows of no particular 



The Discrowned Jingo. 47 

account out of their home circles, who will go and be shot for a 
shilling a day. We have got the ships, which would make short 
work of Moscow and effectively blockade Siberia. Finally, we have 
got the money — chiefly other people's. What the country did not 
have was Jingo himself, body and bones, to be placed in the fore- 
front of the battle, and there finally and exceptionally justify the 
reason of his existence. Jingo, in those still recent days, had a very 
distinct idea of the subdivision of labour. He would stop at home 
and shout, rattling his beer-glass in Music Hall or his wine-glass at 
Guildhall. Somebody else should go and fight, and so the 
ascendency of England would be maintained in the councils of 
Europe. 

The Jingo is the aggregation of the bully. An individual may 
be a bully, but in order to create Jingoism there must be a crowd. 
To this extent a bully is a more respectable individual than a Jingo. 
Equally with the Jingo, a bully need not want to fight. But his 
profession made him constantly prone to accidents that sometimes 
led to his having to strip and give battle. In Mr. Pepys* diary there 
is a narrative of an encounter between two bullies, which shows how 
bullydom can sometimes rise to the heights of heroism. It happened 
one sultry night in July 1667. " Two young bloods, Sir Henry 
Bellasses and Tom Porter, having dined,' were conversing ; Sir Henry 
Bellasses talking in a loud voice. Some of the company standing 
by said, ' What, are they quarrelling that they talk so high ? ' Sir 
Henry Bellasses, hearing it, said, ' No, I would have you know I 
never quarrel but I strike ; that is a rule of mine.' * How/ says 
Tom Porter, ' strike ! I would I could see the man in England who 
durst give me a blow.' With that Sir Henry Bellasses did give him 
a box on the ear, and so they were going to fight there, but were 
hindered. However, they fought later the same night, and Sir 
Henry Bellasses was wounded so much that it is feared he will die, 
and finding himself severely wounded he called to Tom Porter and 
kissed him, and bade him shift for himself: for, says he, * Tom, thou 
hast hurt me ; but I will make shift to stand upon my legs till thou 
mayest withdraw, and the world not take notice of you : for I would 
not have thee troubled for what thou hast done.' " 

This is a speech which glorifies much swashbucklery, and makes 
us think tenderly of this roysterer of the Stuart time. Sir Henry 
Bellasses was a bully, and would doubtless on occasion prove him- 
self a Jingo. But he would not have sung " We don't want to fight," 
or indulged in cheap heroics blustering about his ships, and shaking 
his money-bags at the head of the surprised enemy. 



48 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

Sir Henry Bellasses was a member of Parliament in the reign of 
Charles II., and doubtless from his place below the gangway blustered 
a good deal against the Dutch. If he had happened to have been 
born two hundred years later, he would certainly have obtained a 
seat in the Parliament the return of which marked the establishment 
of those great principles of which Mr. Disraeli was the embodiment 
Whether he would have felt quite at home in the place, and whether 
he would have thoroughly enjoyed the association with his fellow 
Jingoes, may be questioned. The natural reluctance which the 
Jingo has for fighting when he meets on equal terms with the 
adversary does not influence him when he finds the opportunity of 
doing a little safe blustering. In the last Parliament the Jingoes had 
it all their own way, and noisily lorded it over the minority. It is 
doubtful whether a man, the chivalry of whose nature impelled him, 
whilst his life-blood was ebbing by a wound that three days later 
proved fatal, to make shift to stand in order that his adversary might 
escape, would have approved the general conduct of the Jingoes at 
this period. Certainly he would not have taken part in the famous, 
or perhaps infamous, scene which happened on the night when Mr. 
Gladstone and some others, having exercised their right of private 
judgment and voted against the views of the majority, were waylaid 
in the corridor and hooted by hon. gentlemen, much after the 
fashion that the dog which inevitably turns up on the Derby Day is 
chevied by the crowd. I am inclined to think that Sir H. Bellasses, 
whatever might have been his opinion of the political views of Mr. 
Gladstone, would have turned upon the well-dressed mob and beaten 
them off. 

Jingo to-day is discrowned and set in the dust, comforted only 
by the sure and certain hope of resurrection. One result of the 
general election of last spring was considerably to reduce his 
numerical proportions. He found himself not only dispirited but 
decimated. The dunghill on which he used to crow, one of a 
famous company, is new a lonely waste, and the sound of his own 
voice frightens him. In his best days he was not highly gifted with 
eloquence. But the theme at his command was one which easily 
lent itself to speech-making. The talk was tall and filled much 
space. The colours were bright green and scarlet, which caught the 
eye from remote distances. A man was not under the necessity of 
being logical or sensible or even truthful. He had to talk blatant 
nonsense, the more blatant the better, the more nonsensical the more 
successful. Ignorance and evil passions were at the bottom of the 
whole business, and whilst one could not be alarmed by discrepan- 



T/te Discrowned Jingo. 49 

eies, the other could not be surfeited by incessant repetition of the 
one dish. 

The epoch was peculiarly suited to the genius of the great 
Benjoram, who found himself at the moment in supreme control. 
Some years ago a statesman who had the gift of putting great truths 
into small and striking sentences, declared of Lord Palmerston 
that, having no policy at home, he had deliberately set himself to 
distract public attention by creating difficulties abroad. At least the 
first part of this accusation was true in respect to Benjoram. He 
had come into power on the crest of a great wave of popular enthu- 
siasm. But he was an astute man, and recognised the fact that this 
feeling was born rather of weariness of too active Liberalism than of a 
love of Toryism. Benjoram dare not enact Liberal measures, and 
he could not enact Tory ones. The ingenious compromise by which 
he legislated in a Liberal-Conservative spirit, an3 made his Acts per- 
missive, had come to be a little ludicrous in the eyes of the nation. 
His natural tastes were in the direction of the sublime, and the sublime 
always has a certain predominating quality of vagueness, in the 
depths and heights of which the imagination may roam with satisfac- 
tion and safety. Benjoram invested Jingoism with an elocutionary 
attractiveness of which it stood sorely in need. He was clever, 
entertaining, occasionally eloquent, and often picturesque. He rolled 
Russia in the dust, exalted the Turk to the seventh heaven, talked 
vaguely about " nationalities," and never failed to wind up with a 
peroration in which the integrity of the British Empire had an 
honoured place. 

As an oratorical Jingo he was much more successful than Lord 
Boanerges. His lordship has a certain directness of speech which 
rather spoiled his aim. He had the strength and also the single- 
purpose of a sledge-hammer : going straight at the thing he desired to 
beat, and not leaving it till it was hopelessly flattened out. The 
nebulous atmosphere with which Benjoram surrounded the picture he 
drew was much more successful in bringing about the desired effect. 
Every one knew exactly what Lord Boanergef meant If he did not 
love the Turk he hated the Russian, and " went for " him with the 
same ferocious joy with which he used in times past to dance around 
Benjoram himself. As for Benjoram, no one knew exactly what he 
meant. But there was a general impression that there was more in 
his speech than met the eye. Of course one in his high official 
position could not be too communicative. It was evident he could tell 
more an* he would. In the meantime, the only thing to be done was 
to leave all to him, voting him the men, the ships, and the money too. 

VOL. CCL. NO. l80I. E 



50 The Genttematis Magazine. 

By these two voices, Jingoism, whether in the House of Commons 
or in the House of Lords, found its highest and most authoritative 
expression. But brag is an easy game to play, and there were 
several other more or less notable men who devoted themselves to 
its practice before an audience sure to applaud. To Lord Echo the 
opportunity was one eagerly welcomed. Throughout a long Par- 
liamentary career, he had used up all the ordinary topics on which 
speeches might be made. Not that this was a fatal objection to 
continuance of speech on the part of the noble lord. His pleasure 
was to talk. Whether he had anything to say, or whether, having 
originally had something to say, he had already said it ten times 
over, was an accidental circumstance which befel, one way or 
the other, to the greater or less boredom of the audience. To 
Lord Echo the flux of Jingoism was a phenomenon peculiarly 
grateful. It was a creed which consecrated the apostle, and made 
him acceptable to an audience that would have portentously yawned 
had he risen to address it on any other subject. 

To preach Jingoism in the Parliament of 1874 was a double- 
edged sword in the hand of a Conservative. It smote at Russia, and 
in drawing back for a fresh blow it hacked Mr. Gladstone. Thus 
Lord Echo found himself encouraged by unwonted cheering when 
he poured forth the level flood of his talk on Foreign policy. His 
lordship was perhaps the most fluent speaker in a by no means taci- 
turn Parliament. Probably no one member spoke so much and said 
so little. To the pain endured by a hapless audience was added the 
aggravation of witnessing his lordship's keen enjoyment of his own 
eloquence and humour. To the unbiassed observer, it seemed that 
whilst the humorous was altogether absent, the eloquence was con- 
structed on the model of the bubbling of a brook. In one case there 
is an indefinite quantity of water which, influenced by the law of 
gravitation, ever flows down, and, meeting an occasional obstruc- 
tion, gurgles round it. In the other there was an indefinite supply 
of words which flowed in obedience to mechanical impulse, and were 
coloured with just sufficient evidence of thought, and connected with 
just so much appearance of logical sequence, as to make them pass for 
speech, especially when contributed to debate by the heir-presump- 
tive of an earldom. If Lord Echo had been modest, the infliction 
need not have been too bitterly resented. But, like Theophrastus 
Such, his lordship, " in relation to all subjects had a joyous con- 
sciousness of the ability which is prior to knowledge." His animal 
spirits were unflagging, and on resuming his seat after occupying the 
time of the House for an hour, or sometimes two hours, he has di$- 



The Discrowned Jingo. 51 

played the evident conviction, maddening to the already aggravated 
auditor, that he has really made a clever, entertaining, and conclusive 
speech. Readers of Rabelais will remember that when Prince 
Pantagruel was on his famous voyage in quest of the divine bottle, 
he came upon a group of islands among which was one called Ruach 
or Wind. " Here," we read, " the people nourished and fed them- 
selves wholly on wind, the poor by means of fans, and the rich by 
windmills, beneath which, on days of banquets, they sat and regaled 
themselves, discoursing the different varieties and qualities of breezes 
just as topers talk of wines." It was on this island, surely, Lord 
Echo was born, and, being rich, kept a windmill. 

In studying the type of the discrowned Jingo, Lord Echo may 
stand as a fair representative of the prosperous, uninformed, and 
chattering member of society, who at the dinner-table settled the 
Eastern Question between the soup and the fish, and in the intervals 
of the dance demonstrated that Mr. Gladstone was a traitor who in 
happier times would have expiated his crimes on the scaffold. Of a 
higher class was Sir Drumm und Fife. Sir Drumm really did know 
what he was talking about, having spent some years in the diplomatic 
service. He represented in the House the type of officialism — a class 
of the community which, when the balance trembles between peace 
and war, is always ready to put its foot down on the side of war. 
Sir Drumm was not a very ready or effective speaker, but he had 
about him a certain well-cultivated appearance of impartiality. In 
the present Parliament it may be lamented that evil communications 
have corrupted this good manner, and that, carried away by the 
hot-headed enthusiasm of a younger associate, Sir Drumm has some- 
times been led into the use of strong language sadly in discord with 
diplomatic usage. In the last Parliament, his present ally not being 
old enough to take charge of the affairs of Europe, Sir Drumm 
distinguished himself amid the violent diatribes of the hour by the 
moderation of his tone. This restraint of transport with respect 
to the excellence of Turkey was further established after an official 
visit to a province long under Turkish rule. When he came back 
he rather shocked men like Lord Echo by admitting that the Turk 
was not quite so gentlemanly as he was painted, and that if he could 
be gently reformed, it would be better for humanity in general and 
his neighbours in particular. This apparent impartiality endowed Sir 
DrumnVs speeches with considerable interest and some influence. 
He was at least intelligent and informed — quite unusual characteristics 
of the Jingo. 

The third type, representing a large and influential section of the 

e 2 



52 The Gentleman! s Magazine. 

population, sat at the corner of the third bench behind Ministers, 
in the person of Sir Water Meadows, Bart. Sir Water was a county 
gentleman of military instincts and sound constitutional principles. 
He had been for a short time in the Dragoon Guards, a circumstance 
which entitled him to lecture successive War Ministers on minutiae of 
battalions and details of drill. He was very useful to an astute 
minister who desired to ascertain the feelings of the important but 
generally inarticulate country genderaan. Sir Water had fair abilities 
and great energy, unsapped by his too brief career in the Dragoon 
Guards. When Parliament was not sitting he was a constant attend- 
ant on the magisterial bench, never missed quarter sessions, and 
generally .busied himself about county business. He was not a man 
of original mind, but was none the less on that account a safe guide 
to a minister " feeling his way." What the country gentleman thought 
yesterday, be sure Sir Water Meadows would be saying to-day. He 
said a good deal in the House during the Jingo period, making it 
clear that the counties might be relied on to back Benjoram in hurling 
defiance at Russia. The country mansion and the town music hall 
were at one on this question, and what the great, and now unhap- 
pily recreant, McDermott did for the latter, Sir Water Meadows 
did for the former. One voiced the spirit of Jingoism in couplets 
that would scarcely scan, and in measure audaciously borrowed from 
older musicians; the other from his place in the House of Com- 
mons talked portentously in the name of the country gentlemen, 
whole sections of his speeches being a feeble echo of the vaporous 
nonsense of the great Benjoram himself. 

It was pretty to see how the fervour of Jingoism influenced the 
oratorical style of Sir Water. He had always, when addressing the 
House, shown himself deeply impressed with the importance of the 
remarks he felt it his duty to make. But about the time of the Jingo 
epidemic he adopted a delivery that would have been funny if it had 
not been painful. His voice, always loud, grew thunderous. His 
gestures became positively gymnastic, and hon. members seated on 
the bench below, careful of their hats, effected a strategic retreat from 
beyond the range of the sweeping arm with which Sir Water denounced 
the Despot of the North. But it was in the enunciation of inoffensive 
and immaterial words that Sir Water achieved fresh Parliamentary 
fame. He seemed to have brought down with him in his brougham 
a large stock of emphasis, which he cast upon the chaos of his speech 
and left to distribute itself. Even properly regulated, it was out of 
all proportion to the importance of what Sir Water had to say. But 
being entirely free from controlling direction, it had a ludicrous way 



The Discrowned Jingo. 53 

of fastening itself upon conjunctions, possessing itself of preposi- 
tions, and thundering round indefinite articles, utterly crushing these 
inoffensive parts of speech. The most commendable thing about Sir 
Water's speech was its thorough honesty. He evidently believed 
every word he said, and felt that, as a country gentleman who had 
once borne her Majesty's commission and whom a beneficent Provi- 
dence had gifted with Demosthenic eloquence, it was his duty to 
come forward at this crisis of the empire and avert impending ruin. 

These gentlemen, and others of whom they are types, had a 
good time of it whilst Jingo reigned. It must be said of them 
that they have accepted their monarch's deposition with good 
grace. Perhaps they had got a little tired of shouting. Probably 
they did not altogether like the company in which a common cause 
often led them. Or it may be that they simply had the ordinary good 
sense to accept the inevitable, and comfort themselves with looking 
forward to the time when, as surely as the sun will rise in the morn- 
ing, their turn shall come again. Lord Echo has no difficulty in 
finding other subjects on which to extol his own prescience in long 
speeches. Sir Drumm und Fife has helped to establish a new power 
in the State, which, though small in numbers, is rich in diplo- 
macy, profound in legal lore, and illimitable in impudence. As for 
Sir Water, he has gone back to older studies, and the Yeomanry 
Cavalry, whose interests were somewhat neglected during the Eastern 
crisis, are once more receiving the benefit of consideration by his 
capacious mind. 

But Jingoism is not dumb, even in a House of Commons whose 
election dealt a crushing blow at it, causing monarch and crown to 
tumble down. It is not a very strong voice, and there is reason to 
believe it is not encouraged by the party in whose behalf it is per- 
sistently raised. Even Jingoism shrinks from being represented by 
Mr. Hystericus-Partlette. But the future historian, or the student of 
particular phases of national dementia, will probably accept him as 
the incarnation of the principles and characteristics which go to make 
up Jingoism. Essentially and constitutionally feeble, Jingoism is 
blustering, inaccurate, spiteful, pertinacious, and wholly devoid of 
the chastening influence of a sense of humour. It seems a little 
unreasonable that a cause so constituted should, with what energy 
is left to it, resent the championship assumed on its behalf in these 
latter days by the hon. gentleman who the other day told the 
Wolverhampton Conservatives that "next session he should deal 
with Mr. Gladstone more severely than ever." 

Mr. Hystericus-Partlette having had his attention more directly 



54 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

called to foreign affairs, has somewhat arrogated to himself the 
position of chief mourner for his discrowned Majesty. There is, 
however, another gentleman in the new House of Commons who, 
upon occasion, is ready to take up and wear the famous sword 
garlanded with lilies of peace, long since fallen from the hands of 
Lord John Manners. As Mr. Hystericus-Partlette represents an 
animated parody of the Jingo orator, so Mr. Warthead may be 
accepted as a fair specimen of the mob who supported the move- 
ment He is a very favourable specimen of the class : being not 
only respectable but honest, and, according to such lights as 
have been vouchsafed to him, really believing all he says and all 
he attempts to make clear to others. Politically, he has been 
born since the time of Mr. Mill. But his existence proves the ever- 
lastingness of the truth involved in a famous aphorism put forth by 
that gentleman. Mr. Warthead is simply, unaffectedly, and often 
amusingly stupid. Intellectually (if one may use the word in this 
connection) his vision is blinded and distorted by two phenomena 
ever present On one side is a light of purest ray serene, irra- 
diating by its beneficent effulgence all the pathways of life. This 
is Lord Beacon sfield. On the other flames an evil star, dazzling in 
its concentrated force, blinding the beleaguered traveller, and luring 
him to inevitable destruction. This is Mr. Gladstone. With one 
eye affectionately fixed on the benignant luminary, and the other 
attracted by the demoniac glare of the evil star, it is no wonder that 
Mr. Warthead should not clearly see the smaller matters of everyday 
political life. To a mind thus constituted, Jingoism presented itself 
with irresistible fascination. It sounds well, looks large, deals with 
generalities, imposes no personal responsibilities, has Lord Beacons- 
field among its prophets, and supplies promiscuous, opportunities for 
casting stones at Mr. Gladstone. 

THE MEMBER FOR THE CHILTERN HUNDREDS. 



55 



ON A CATTLE STATION. 

THE morning of Boxing-day was raw and cold : a fact quite 
deserving of mention, because two days earlier, travelling in 
the train from Brisbane to eat our Christmas dinner with friends on 
the Darling Downs, we had experienced great heat ; had run into a 
magnificent thunderstorm at the foot of the mountains ; ascended 
the range with lovely rose-coloured lightning revealing the ravines 
and far-away woods ; and finished the journey to Toowoomba with 
the accompaniment of muttered thunder and fading flashes in 
the west. It was one of those days when you might naturally 
wonder whether it was possible ever to be cool again. Yet the 
grateful thunderstorm had effectually cleared the atmosphere, and 
the Christmas holidays were, in all parts of the southern half of the 
Colony, most enjoyable. 

Upon the Darling Downs, some two thousand feet above the 
level of the sea, it was a little more than cool, and I was roused out 
of bed before daylight on Boxing-day morning to indulge in the 
novel sensation of a shiver and moral cowardice in the bath-room. 
My host, however, was a man who never allowed any one time for 
shivering, and in the very grey dawn at that time, with a dull day, 
shortly before six o'clock, the buggy wheels crunched upon the 
gravel, and the horses stood pawing at the foot of the steps. From 
a ridge, divided from us by a long valley, in which the town of 
Toowoomba lay sleeping and hidden, the mountain mists rolled in 
volumes, saturating all they touched as effectually as if they were 
real rain, instead of wreaths of soft wool driven before the wind. It 
looked a most unpromising day for travelling, but B. would hear of 
no shirking, and peremptorily ordered me into the buggy. The bay 
horse reared in impatience, the brown mare thrust herself into the 
collar, and we were off, speeding swiftly over the sandy road, and not 
a glimpse of sun to cheer with the promise of warmth. 

Soon we were at the verge of the table-land, and twelve miles 
out we were upon the plains 700 feet lower than the point from 
which we had started, the wheels clogged with the rich black soil, 
the horses sweating, but spinning easily along. Miles upon miles of . 



56 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

greyish green plains, with intervening ranges, and dotted with 
clumps of scrub, opened to view as the gradual descent was made : 
the cattle and sheep looked wonderingly up from their glittering 
pastures ; blue mountain parrots flew overhead, and the horizon was 
a boundary of shadowy mountain barriers. The plain here bore a 
distinct and sudden peak or rounded hill ; there the wooded spurs 
encroached upon the level, and saved it from being monotonous. 
B. had prophesied that the chilly mists and forbidding clouds would 
prove peculiar to the higher land : were, in fact, of distinctly mountain 
birth. And so they proved to be ; for once fairly upon the plains, 
the sun appeared, and we were glad to throw aside our ulsters. 

It was heavy travelling. The thunder-storms had brought the 
creeks down in a very decent imitation of flood, and the black soil 
was a paste that clung to wheel and hoof with leech-like pertinacity. 
The first stage was to be done by the bay and brown pair, town 
horses that were taken back next day by the groom in sorry condition. 
For six or seven miles they were plunging through water knee-deep ; 
and through one marshy flat there ran a rapid stream, out of which 
we put up probably a couple of hundred black ducks. This stream 
turned out to be the road track, converted for the time into a 
channel for the rain-water draining from higher ground beyond. 
About noon we came to the banks of a creek running swifdy, and 
upon the brink we paused. To the soliloquy of B., " Now, where 
shall we cross ? M I replied, " Good heavens ! you never mean to 
drive through this ! " His answer was an inspiriting shout to the 
horses, a sharp application of the whip, a heavy foot upon the brake, 
and a quick descent into and through the river. There was no ford 
or track at the spot, but fortune favoured us, and the staunch horses 
landed us safe on the other side. It was an ordinary incident of 
colonial travel, successfully accomplished by experienced judgment 
and prompt boldness. Of this kind of plashy travelling we had 
some twelve miles ; and when at length we emerged from the swamps, 
and approached the station where horses were to be changed, the 
bonny bay no longer pawed the ground and arched his neck. A 
portion of this station was fenced with wallaby-proof fence — a high, 
close paling, reminding one of an English park, and that cost from 
;£8o to ;£ioo per mile. It was rendered necessary by the 
numerous marsupials that infested the scrubs, within which the fence 
confined them. At the station a civilised aboriginal, trusty and 
smart as any white man could be, with the head stockman from the 
run of which B. was part proprietor, awaited us with six horses, by 
which, turn and turn about, we were to complete the journey. 



On a Cattle Station. 57 

Here we plucked luscious figs from a beautiful garden, and took a 
hasty luncheon with the owner of the station. 

The station buggy into which we were now transferred was a 
strong vehicle, built especially for mountain and bush travelling ; a 
compound of the ordinary Abbot buggy and an American express 
waggon. How it survived the journey was wonderful to my eyes, 
and that a month or two afterwards it broke down occasioned me 
no surprise. The jolting was something to remember. B. was a 
masterly whip, and from the first I had confidence in him, else that 
drive to and from his station would have been a period of terror. 
His theory was that, come weal or come woe, it was the correct thing to 
keep the horses going, especially down the side of a mountain, into 
and out of a gully or crack ; and to let them know from the start that 
the responsibility was theirs. Crushing through underwood, grazing 
trees in the bush, thrown sometimes a foot high in the air, swerving 
around sharp curves in precipitous passes, and always rattling on at 
full speed, we pulled up at sunset, having travelled seventy-five miles. 
It was enjoyable in so far that the driving was good, the scenery of 
the mountains magnificent, and the constant change of country novel. 
At one broad creek in flood we were piloted over by a cattle-driver 
who fortunately happened to have ridden through just before our 
arrival, and on our return journey, when the waters were down, we 
plainly saw that, had we diverged a yard from the line taken by our 
guide, we should have had to swim for it. As it was, though I seemed 
to be coolly smoking my pipe when the stream rushed through the 
bottom of the buggy and its roar was loud around us, I was secretly 
quite ready for a leap into the yellow current 

The horses continually challenged admiration, as they so often 
do in the colonies, where they are the friend of man to the fullest 
extent, not so much because of their good looks or proud pedigree, 
as because of their intelligent everyday services. At a moment 
of peril you can implicitly trust them, and they are surprisingly 
docile. How can one help feeling an absolute affection for 
them ? The horses we were using were grass-fed, had been caught 
wild and broken in upon the station, but nothing could exceed their 
endurance or intelligence. After a stage of eight miles, the buggy 
would stop. The spare horses, which had all the while been running 
loose close to the buggy, would stop simultaneously, and feed around 
until the stockman and his assistant had ridden up and dismounted. 
Then the animals in harness were allowed to go at large, and another 
pair substituted. It never occurred to one of these horses to run 
away. Of their own accord, rather, they cantered along with the 



58 The Gentlemaris Magazine. 

buggy, sometimes behind, sometimes by the side when the bush was 
sufficiently open, and occasionally a few yards ahead. They seemed 
to be inspired by the energy of my companion, and answered his call 
as if they were creatures of reason. I cannot say how the driver felt 
at the end of his seventy miles' work with whip, rein, and voice ; for 
myself, I went into the station where we were to spend the night, as a 
man would feebly walk who had been beaten with many stripes ; and 
it was sweet in the evening to lie in the verandah hammock, and 
watch the stars reflected, twinkle and all, in the lagoon, and hear 
the melancholy cry of the stone plover, the contented quack-quack of 
the wild duck, and the distant howl of the dingo. The station was 
the only habitation within leagues. B. and I alone of the company 
— our young host and his wife and baby had never been to the old 
country — could talk of what Boxing-night meant at Drury Lane and 
the other London theatres, and compare the scenes with which we 
were both familiar, with our present exceeding solitude in the Queens- 
land bush. 

The next day was in the nature of a holiday. B., as Member for 
the district, was patron of some local races at a bush township four- 
teen miles distant, and that was the extent of our travel. Not sorry 
was I ; nor sorry could have been the horses, which were rubbed 
down, and turned into a paddock to enjoy themselves. I had not 
previously seen how horse-racing was conducted in the bush, far 
from any township larger than a village, and was curious to acquire 
the experience. Till then, I should not have thought it possible for 
this class of amusement to be harmless. It was the pleasantest 
spectacle imaginable : a Sunday School might have attended it with- 
out evil. It was conducted throughout from a genuine and innocent 
love of sport, and was almost Arcadian in its simple surroundings. 

The township was of the orthodox bush pattern, only, perhaps, 
prettier in its surroundings than usual. There were a courthouse 
and the residence of the police magistrate, who is always the leading 
inhabitant ; two hotels ; a store ; post and telegraph office, and 
scattered wooden houses for the accommodation of the few hundreds 
of people forming the population. But there was an exceptional 
amount of village green between the higher and lower portions, and 
the flocks of geese and rooting pigs roaming at large imparted an old- 
country appearance to it. The racecourse was a mile and a half 
outside the township, and approached by a sandy-bank track. It 
was a rude but good course for such races as were run — an oval 
cleared in the forest, with no railings or fence, but fairly level, and 
with no dangerously sharp turnings. There were no stands, grand 



On a Cattle Station. 59 

or otherwise ; and the judge's box was a homely sort of movable 
pulpit shaded with canvas and boughs of she-oak. From the 
neighbouring stations, within a radius of a score of miles, the 
stockmen and shepherds came in, in many cases to enjoy the one 
holiday of the year, all on horseback, with their dirtiest cabbage-tree 
hats — in the bush, the nearest approach to full dress — best Garibaldi 
shirts, and unapproachable moleskins and boots. Servant girls 
cantered in, proud in their habits and feathers. The selector drove 
in his family in spring cart or dray, but the rule was for everybody 
to be mounted. Before the sheep-bell rang for the first race, you 
might see small boys and laughing girls galloping over the course, 
and at the tail of such a squadron I saw an old woman of sixty-five 
lashing her rough pony into a canter. The lady riders during the 
races massed together on horseback under a clump of trees : the 
gentlemen galloped madly amongst the timber, cutting off corners, 
with the view of seeing as much of the running as possible. There 
was no disorder, no audible betting. The only drunken man I saw 
during the day was a black-fellow upon a wild long-legged horse, 
and he, having been once a trooper in the native police, caused great 
amusement by patrolling up and down with drunken gravity for hours 
together, fancying he was on duty, keeping his horse at a sharp 
walk, and as often as not leaning over its mane in fitful slumber. 
And the racing itself was excellent. The horses and riders were all 
known, and the contests were bond fide trials of strength. 

After a night's rest in a most comfortable hotel, where the mos- 
quito curtains, for a wonder, were without holes, and where a print 
of one of Rolfe's incomparable angling pictures, and a coloured 
representation of punt-fishing in the Thames, hung in the dining- 
room, we resumed our rapid journey. The country was still partly 
mountainous, and there were several creeks to ford. By one o'clock 
we had left our thirty miles behind us, and were at the head station, 
which for a while was to be home. It was a new kind of country 
to me, more picturesque than any I had seen before. In Queens- 
land you can, indeed, get every kind of country;' and here the 
distinctive features were the silver leaf, iron bark, and ridges, 
alternating with fertile flats, covered with the fattening blue grass. 
It is known as first-class pastoral land, and amongst the best for cattle 
that the colony possesses. After a long day's travel, during which 
you have not seen a human being, and scarcely a sign of animal life, 
as you swept through the everlasting forest, the squatter's house, 
surrounded by its patches of maize and miscellaneous cultivation, 
and flanked by its outbuildings and enclosures, is welcome. On 



60 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

this occasion it was welcome in the extreme. There were the fruit- 
trees in the garden ; here, a solitary inclosure sacred to the lonely 
dead ; beyond, a disused shearing shed ; then the workmen's huts, 
each with a few peach-trees shading the roof ; and finally the big 
house, surrounded by vines and figs, crowning an eminence. The 
faithful horses, running loose, recognised the end of their journey ; 
reeking in sweat as they were, they set off up the slope as lively as 
kittens; and the pair in the buggy did not require their driver's 
" Now, then ; home, boys ! " to make a final effort and take us up 
flying. The house commanded a fine view of cultivated flat, covered 
with the dark green maize, of which there was one fenced-in patch 
of 2 1 unbroken acres, or with the quick-growing lucerne, which in 
this country yields four crops per year. Sheep, cattle, and horses 
grazed across the creek ; and beyond the flat the iron-bark ridges 
rose terrace-like till they terminated the prospect. From the veran- 
dah, whose blinds were the foliage of a superb wistaria^ one never 
tired of studying such a pastoral picture as this \ so wide, so 
suggestive of dropping fatness, so many-featured, so bright under 
sunshine, so dreamy and mysterious at the too short transformation 
occasioned by the tints of sunset. 

The run, upon which I was to see life amongst the cattle, was in 
the mountains, where the air was balmy and cool, and where the 
spirits rose high. Night gave sound sleep : morning brought a 
natural hilarity and elasticity that made you ready to do and dare 
anything. Day gave no unbearable heat, nor mosquitos, nor the 
lassitude common at times on the lower lands of the coast. Evening 
found us returning from our expeditions with wolfish appetites and 
pleasant weariness that many a jaded London man would gladly 
purchase at high price. The more I see of the colonies, the better 
can I understand — what at first seemed wholly unexplainable — why, 
after a few years' experience of the free patriarchal life of which this 
cattle run was a type, people who can afford to live in the centres of 
the world's highest civilisation, and command all the comforts and 
luxuries of the old country, prefer — actually and deliberately prefer — 
the independence and limitless elbow-room of these quiet, sunny, 
remote pasture-lands. 

To be sure, the quiet is now and then broken. For example, on 
the afternoon of my arrival at the station, while we were dozing in 
the shade, a fearful hubbub arose amongst the tame blacks who were 
allowed to erect their gunyahs and keep camp near the slaughter- 
yard, about 300 yards beyond the stables. The mailman had indis- 
creetly, and in defiance of the law which prohibits a supply of liquor 



On a Cattle Station. 61 

to aboriginals, left a bottle of rum as he rode by, and three or four of 
the black-fellows, wrought to madness, had seized their weapons, and 
put their camp in an uproar. Gins were yelling and cutting into the 
fray with sticks ; knives, nullahs, spears, and tomahawks were 
gleaming, blood was flowing, and the place was a Pandemonium, 
when my friend's partner, his superintendent, and a couple of stock- 
men rushed upon the scene, laying about right and left, and finally 
quelling the disturbance. We watched a hideous gin binding up the 
wounds of an old warrior who was badly gashed, and shrilly rating 
him as he lay prostrate on a sheet of bark ; and though there was no 
further fighting, we could hear, for a couple of hours or so, intermittent 
yells and jabbering. But this was a novel episode. The blacks are 
generally quiet and harmless, and "attached to the station and its owners, 
who treat them kindly, exercising a paternal supervision over them. 
Paddy, the useful fellow who had accompanied us as described, and 
whose smartness and energy were not surpassed by any white man 
upon the place, lived of his own free choice in this camp. He dressed 
as well as a European mechanic, and his employers gave him a habi- 
tation in keeping with his attire. He and his family occupied it for 
a while, but one morning they evacuated the tenement, and returned 
to the smoke and dirt of the bark gunyah, where the piccaninnies 
might roll and run about naked, and Mrs. Paddy, when she was not 
assisting in the station laundry and kitchen, might smoke her pipe and 
croon with her sable sisters. 

Young men coming to the Colonies to enter into pastoral pursuits 
never live down their hatred of sheep-farming, nor their fondness 
for cattle. The movements of the latter are naturally more lively, 
and the operations incident to their breeding make more demands 
upon the manly qualities which bushmen prize. Scores of highly 
born and bred men live by droving cattle, involving, it may be, a 
journey of hundreds of miles, through unknown country. The 
drover, or " overlander," has a twofold object : to bring his herd to its 
destination without loss, and in good marketable condition. To do 
this requires generalship, endurance, knowledge, and patience, and a 
certain instinct that with many seems to be inborn, enabling them to 
steer a direct course where others would be hopelessly lost The 
trip of the brothers Jardine from Rockhampton to Cape York has 
thus become historical in the annals of settlement in Queensland. 

What shearing is to the sheep stations, mustering is to the cattle 
run, namely, the chief operation of the year. We had some " fine 
times " at this business. After breakfast, solid and plentiful, and des- 
patched close upon sunrise, a general movement would be made to 



62 The Gentleman! $ Magazine. 

the horse-yard, into which perhaps twenty horses had been driven 
from the paddock. The horses for the day having been selected, the 
remainder would be turned out again. Saddling came next, each 
man attending to his own wants. We made quite an imposing caval- 
cade at starting. By-and-by we should be distributed on special 
duties, ordered by the head stockman, who was commander-in-chief; 
but we set out from headquarters in a body, to wit : my friend and 
his copartner; the head stockman and his invaluable henchman, 
Paddy, the black-fellow ; four lively young gentlemen, sons of the 
partners, home from the metropolitan grammar-school for the 
Christmas or Midsummer holidays ; the superintendent and myself, 
the kindly considered interloper; and an odd boy or two cara- 
colling in the rear and on general outpost duty. How the regular 
station folks, to whom these expeditions occurred as the routine of 
daily work, felt was not told ; I felt young again, as if no silver threads 
were being woven ; in short, as if I was as much a boy as those 
wide-awake holiday-keepers from the grammar-schools. But, then, 
the sky was so high and clear; the morning air so bracing; the 
country so verdant. Like the horses, I wanted to be off at more fiery 
haste than a quick walk, and would fain have cleaved the air like 
thee agle flying overhead. Before night, however, the horses would 
want their strength for practical work; I had forgotten for the 
moment that we were not a party of pleasure. 

There were two musters in the year for branding the young 
calves, and creating as many fat bullocks for the future as could be 
obtained. Every five or six years there was a general muster 
technically termed square-tailing, the object being to ascertain the 
precise number of cattle upon the station, and compare tails with the 
book entries. Owners of cattle runs at this period were not in very 
hopeful mood. Bullocks which three years before were fetching 
eight pounds per head could not now be sold for half the amount, 
and men who had been sailing near the wind, and entering upon 
pastoral pursuits in too speculative a spirit, were in a condition not to 
be envied ; balance at bank overdrawn, markets glutted, and little 
immediate prospect of better times. Quantities of country taken up 
under the Pastoral Leases Act, and upon which the leaseholders had 
stood to make a fortune in half a dozen years, had to be abandoned. 
Ruin stared many in the face, and was close upon them. Prudent 
men, like the owners of the run I had travelled far to see, resolved hence- 
forth to put flocks of sheep upon the suitable portions, for wool always 
pays, even if droughts carry off the sheep in hosts, as described last 
year in an article in the "Gentleman's Magazine" upon sheep 



On a Cattle Station. 63 

station work. Here was a forcible illustration of the precarious 
nature of squatting. One morning a butcher's man arrived from 
Brisbane to draft out 150 bullocks for market, and I had the honour 
of assisting in the drafting, being stationed on one side of the mob 
to see that none broke away in that direction. The bullocks selected 
were a splendid lot, chiefly shorthorns, and numbers of them averaged 
800 lbs. each. They had been purchased two years before, when 
prices were high, a bargain at £4. 10s. per head ; they had eaten 
two years' grass, and were now being sold at ten shillings per head 
less than their primary cost. The townspeople, who are fond of 
talking of " the bloated squatter," too often overlook this aspect of 
the question. Just now (May 1880) the success of the Strathleven 
experiment is dispersing the gloomy forebodings, and frozen meat is 
looked upon as the sheet-anchor of the future. 

Our first expedition was to cut out the cows and calves of a large 
mob driven in from a distant part of the run to a " camp n about six 
miles from the station. Very exciting and pretty work it was. The 
youths and myself were stationed around the camp — an open space 
in the forest, where the trees were enough for shade, but not too 
many for free movement; and it seemed to me that when the 
business of our department was slack, we occasionally allowed a cow 
and calf to escape for the express purpose of riding after them. Be 
that as it might, there was plenty of hard galloping for the head 
stockman and his assistants in the thick of the herd, twisting and 
doubling after the particular animal they had fixed upon, and per- 
forming splendid feats of horsemanship in the pursuit The horses 
knew their work as well as the riders, and entered into the game as if 
their hearts were in it. The cows and calves by-and-by became con- 
siderably mixed, and the uproar made by the cows which had lost their 
progeny was deafening. The cows without calves were allowed to 
depart as they listed, and when released they set slowly off by one 
consent, grazing their way leisurely back to the particular part of the 
run from which they had been brought 

The neighbouring mountains echoed the din marking our return, 
slowly driving the cows and calves before us. In the rear of the 
mob an undue proportion of calves struggled and cried, and it was 
painful to witness the distress of their mothers as they frantically 
searched for the lost. The lowing of kine is a favourite article of 
the poet's stock, and would be one for the painter too if he could 
transfer it to canvas. The bellowing of a hundred " mothers of the 
milky herd " in sore distress was quite another affair. Dogs barked, 
stock whips cracked like pistol-shots, as the procession moved at 



64 The Gentleman! s Magazine. 

the rate of two miles an hour along a sweet valley adorned with 
many a green bluff and cool ravine and creek, into which the herd 
plunged pell-mell, always increasing the number of bewildered little 
stragglers in the rear. In passing through the gates, which upon this 
run were employed as an improvement upon the cumbersome 
slip rail, the number would be still further increased, by reason of 
the crush and the inevitable fate of the weak under such circum- 
stances. A cow more agonised than she could bear would at times 
charge back, to be met by vigilant dogs and the stockman's whip, 
and despatched in hot haste into the ruck once more. The sun was 
dipping behind the ranges when the noisy collection was safely 
enclosed for the night in a small paddock near the branding-yards. 

The next day was devoted to branding, cutting, and ear-marking ; 
and having seen 140 head disposed of, the cup of my experience in 
those operations might be fairly considered brimful. There was 
none of the shouting, swearing, and flaying with stock whips that I 
had been taught to expect ; nor any of the hairbreadth escapes 
which figure so largely in colonial literature. The proceedings were 
quiet, orderly, and even prosaic, for the appointments of the branding- 
yard comprised the latest improvements. The use of the head rop£, 
and consequent hunting, scruffing, and lassoing of the cattle in the 
dusty yard, had been long tabooed. There were large strong pen\s 
for the reception of.the beasts in convenient instalments, and a long^ 
lane about four feet wide within solid fences eight feet high. Int< 
this passage the calves were thrust, leaving the cows at their ol< 
game of hullabaloo in the inclosure without The centre of the lane] 
was divided into sections by four gates, opened and shut at tlv 
proper moment by a person perched upon the eight-feet fence, ai 
who by a simple arrangement could control the entire numb<] 
without changing position. With this janitor, the situation beirJ 
out of harm's way, and nicely shaded by a roof of fresh-cut brusfV 
wood, I associated and watched. 

A heifer, that had passed through the necessary ordeal at soi 
previous branding, presenting herself by mistake, one of the gate! is 
opened, and she shot out of the trap into freedom. The next if n 
order was a vigorous yearling bull, for whom a different fate was 
store. To him opened another gate, and, goaded into anger by pr< 
liminary handling and the ignominy of temporary imprisonment t, 
with eyeballs glaring and muzzle frothing, he plunged and snortec ' \ 
evidently using what with his order was tantamount to profane lar 
guage. One of these young bulls, half leaping and half climbin 
had just before cleared the eight-feet fence and got away. The morJ • 



& 



On a Cattle Station. 65 

reasonable calf, however, found himself in a compartment not much 
beyond his own length, with the freely- swinging gate clapped-to 
behind him before he knew where he was. It might stand comfort- 
ably, but there was no room for cutting unnecessary capers. A slip 
rail was removed ; the calf moved forward ; his head was caught in 
a bale. Paddy put a thong of greenhide round his hind leg, spite of 
his desperate plunges, a man opposite roped his fore-leg, the bale- 
beam was released ; his head being free, he made one bold rush, 
bellowing; the ropes tightened, and our friend lay sprawling upon his 
side, with the branding-iron hissing on his flank, a man standing on 
his head to keep him quiet, and another cutting a " keyhole " slit out 
of his ear. Meanwhile, the branding-irons had been sent back to the 
hot ashes, and the head stockman (who is chief operator) did what 
else is necessary. These operations were effected, and the victim was 
cantering at large in the bush in a tithe of the time occupied in this 
description. 

And then the same thing was repeated until the day's work was 
done. The weaners — calves from six to twelve months old — were 
turned, through a gate of their own, into a distinct inclosure, to be 
sent to the heifer paddock, from which, being weaned, they would 
join the herd on the run. Calves ought to be branded when very 
young ; but amongst our 140 there were several a year old, and they 
invariably made a fierce fight They had been either missed in a 
former mustering, or might have been too tender to travel in from 
their camp, and, at the drafting or " cutting out," had been allowed 
to go scot-free. A young bull which does not go through the brand- 
ing-yard before he is a year old is pretty safe to make what is called 
a staggy bullock. 

The letters composing the brand must, according to law, be three 
inches long, and the art of branding is to burn through the hair 
dead upon the skin, without injuring it. The calf, of course, is not 
enamoured of the frizzling and singeing ; but it is more frightened 
than hurt The use of the knife in the other operations must be 
painful for the time ; but the patients did not appear to be keenly 
troubled once they had gained their liberty. It was necessary to get 
out of their way when the thongs were removed ; but they did not 
linger long. After shaking their heads and recovering their senses, 
they galloped away and mingled with their companions, to find 
their grief-stricken mothers. The business went forward with the 
regularity of clockwork, and in a given hour and a quarter sixty calves 
were disposed of. But this was reckoned particularly smart handling. 
Each station has its special brand ; and necessarily, in a country 

vol. ecu no. 1801. f 



66 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

where there are so many cattle and so few human beings, the require- 
ments of the Brands Act are rigidly enforced. 

The cows and calves, set at liberty from the large inclosure, made 
a rush to the water-hole, and drank deeply. They were then escorted 
a mile or two in the direction of their " camp," which, in this in- 
stance, was nine miles off. Turning neither to the right nor left, 
they would feed at ease, until they arrived at the spot where, day by 
day, they congregated in the shade. 

The run presented picturesque features, far removing it from the 
ordinary tameness of Australian landscape. Its grasses were abundant 
and fattening \ it possessed immense flats capable of growing corn 
and potatoes in any quantity. I saw a large patch of English pota- 
toes that would not discredit Ireland herself; and the maize was a 
picture of plenty. There were high ridges, in which wild horses and 
kangaroos abounded. They are worth a chapter to themselves ; and 
I will only here mention, with reference to the former, that they are 
called "brombies," that they are descended from valuable horses 
escaped from an old stud farm, and that they are broken in without 
much difficulty. The horses that brought us up so splendidly were 
all " brombies," and so were most of the animals employed on the 
station. 

Silver-leaf iron-bark country is always in high repute for grazing. 
It is the prettiest type of Queensland pasture-land I have seen. The 
iron bark proper is a big, black-trunked, hard ^yood of commercial 
value, but not elegant in appearance. The silver-leafed variety is 
more ornamental than useful. The trees upon this run were far apart ; 
they were small, the trunk seldom exceeding a foot in thickness, and 
they bore a branching head of full foliage, of a blue-green tint, that 
gives them a name. There was no weariness to the eye in being 
amongst them, as with the common eucalypti, and, there being no 
under-growth, the sward was open and fresh. Upon the flats the 
usual gum-trees abounded, save where — another token of good land 
— the comely apple-trees held possession. Upon the veritable 
mountain ridges of one corner of the run there were magnificent 
scrubs of bunya pine, to which the blacks periodically resorted, to 
feed upon the succulent kernels of the large cones. Roasted as the 
blacks only can roast them, they were as good as chestnuts. 

There were, " more or less," as the pastoral advertisements always 
say, 7,000 head of cattle upon the run. In the bull paddock there 
were 60 grand animals peacefully feeding, some of them sires im- 
ported at considerable expense. The stud Herefords were especially 
handsome, and in the heifer paddock you might pick out a 



On a Cattle Station. 67 

dozen of their progeny fit for an English agricultural show. Many 
Australian graziers prefer the shorthorn. There were 1,200 fat 
bullocks waiting better markets, besides the mob that were travelling 
down to Brisbane, a distance of 150 miles, at the rate of eight miles 
per day. The breeding cows were reduced during the drought of 
two years ago, but there still remained 4,500. The residue were 
steers and heifers. 

The word paddock will not to the English reader convey an 
adequate idea of the area of the inclosures. The bullock paddock, for 
example, into the centre of which the herd had been driven for the 
butcher's drafting, contained 6,000 acres, and was securely fenced in 
with the usual post and rails. And this was not the largest cattle run 
in Queensland, though it was much above the average. 

The noon-day rests at mustering expeditions were delightful. 
They were if possible on the banks of a creek, and under the shade 
9f a group of trees. The bridle reins were pulled over the head and 
passed round one of the stirrups, leaving the horses free to graze, and 
so well were they accustomed to their work and masters that they 
never moved far from the camp fire, where the inevitable quart pot of 
tea was kept ready. So we sat around upon the grass, the piece of 
cold boiled beef and the loaf were passed from hand to hand, each 
sliced off what he wanted, and, with the cheap effective sauce of 
hunger, ate as hearty men who had earned a meal should eat The 
bond fide workers wasted no time in lunching, but I could afford to lie 
face downwards upon the grass, the cicadas in all the trees in per- 
petual concert, and lazily ruminate upon the fascinations of pastoral 
life upon a run of this description, containing 280 square miles, for 
the most part beautiful and high-class grazing country. In the 
evenings we spent fleeting hours at the whist table or piano in the 
drawing-room, where the lady of the house, her daughter, and gover- 
ness, made us agreeably acquainted with the softer side of station 
life. 

The exciting occupation of moonlighting we had no opportunity 
of sharing. It is a frequent and necessary one upon many cattle 
stations, but here the few scrub6 were remote and insignificant The 
object is to capture the cattle that have gone wild and inhabit the in- 
accessible fastnesses of the scrub. There they remain during the day, 
coming out into the open at night to feed. Quiet cattle are taken as 
decoys, and the horsemen by dint of breakneck racing cut off and 
run in as many as they can. When captured, however, they are 
scarcely worth the trouble of keeping, being illbred and averse to 
beef-making. It is nevertheless the proper thing to keep them down, 

F2 



68 The Gentlemaris Magazine* 

on account of their propensity to entice the station stock away from 
their duty. Should the " scrubbers " be utterly worthless, they can at 
least be slaughtered for the sake of their hides ; and the likely ones 
may by a little care be trained to be good working bullocks. Moon- 
lighting, therefore, upon the whole is not a remunerative affair, and it 
is the custom with some to shoot the scrubbers down on the spot 

New Year's Day fell during my visit, and we saw the old year out 
at a neighbouring station eighteen miles distant It was a glorious 
ride, by lily-covered lagoons "and across grass-covered plains, and 
the hospitable entertainment that awaited the visitors who came 
in from all directions was more the genial merrymaking of the olden 
times than the formal gathering of modern life. One young lady, 
reputed to be the happiest, merriest, best-tempered damsel of the 
district, had travelled seventy miles to be one of the party, and our 
host had driven half that distance to transfer her from the saddle to 
his buggy. A hearty, unceremonious welcome there was for every 
new-comer from host and hostess ; the long table on the verandah, 
overlooking lake and plain as far as the eye could reach, groaned day 
and night with abundance ; and another verandah hung around with 
flags made an irreproachable ball-room. We observed the time- 
honoured custom on the stroke of midnight, and separated, north, 
south, east, and west, after two days' genuine enjoyment, declaring 
that it had been good to be there. 

The days that had intervened between our journey up and down 
having been without rain, the foaming, roaring currents had become 
ignoble creeks, showing us that in two fordings we had narrowly 
escaped plumping into holes. Our old friends the " brombies," 
driven in from the grass the previous night, were in fine spirits, 
and my friend, according to his custom, kept them going. " There 
is less chance of accident ; the horses like it better ; and it is the 
only thing that makes a long journey tolerable," he would say. Our 
first pair shied at a dead dingo lying in the road. It was a remark- 
ably fine specimen of the tawny native dog, but its bushy tail had 
been cut off by the slayer, who, upon producing it at the head 
»n, would receive a bonus of two figs of tobacco. As we passed 
[guana crawled from the interior of the carcase, and hurried 
^ \y U P a tree - Down the mountain roads we went at hard gallop, 

iC conscious that the giving way of a single buckle or bolt would 
|H all probability roll us, very much mashed, into a rocky ravine. 
p u t, as my companion observed, "there's nothing like keeping 
them going," and it really did seem as if the plucky brombi^s steered 
better and ran freer when their bipod was up. 



On a Cattle Station. 69 

On this trip we were not troubled with mosquitoes, nor, in this 
mountainous district, are they ever so troublesome as on the coast 
Black duck, whistling duck, wood duck, spurwing plover, and curhen 
were plentiful, and for the first time I saw the squatter pigeon, a pretty 
little brown dove that derives its name from its habit of squatting 
on the ground. They were generally in pairs, and when disturbed, 
lazily flew into the nearest tree. The birds are so tame that the 
blacks knock them down by hurling their nullahs ; and stockmen kill 
them with their whips. They are excellent eating. Every variety of 
parrot was to be seen, and quail we could put up at pleasure. What, 
therefore, with sport, cattle-mustering, evening amusements, and New 
Year's festivities, it is needless perhaps to explain that six days' 
travelling with a friend whose kindness and powers of entertainment 
were as capacious as his body, albeit our roads or no roads — the 
roughness of which I cannot adequately describe — were more than 
counterbalanced by the total results. 

REDSPINNER. 



70 The Gentleman s Magazine. 



THE INVINCIBLE ARMADA. 

AT last the day, big, not with the fate of Cato and of Rome, but 
of England and the Protestant cause, had arrived. After 
months of preparation the splendid fleet which Philip of Spain 
destined for the humiliation of the English and the establishment of 
Catholic ascendency, was ready to quit the harbour and put to sea. 
It consisted of one hundred and twenty-nine vessels, well supplied 
with cannon, and containing provisions sufficient to feed a powerful 
army for six months. On board were twenty thousand soldiers, 
animated with all the enthusiasm of the fiercest religious bigotry. 
The plan formed by the King of Spain was that the Armada should 
sail to Dunkirk, should there embark the Spanish troops in the 
Netherlands, under the command of the Duke of Parma, then 
cross over to Margate, land the Spanish army, and at one sudden 
and decisive blow complete the conquest of England. The expedi- 
tion, which was thus to crush the might of a whole nation, was no mere 
vulgar enterprise, inspired by the usual aims of secular ambition. It 
was a crusade, a holy war, a religious undertaking. As the Christians 
in days of old had invaded the East to stamp out the power of the 
infidel, so now the Catholic turned his eyes towards England, the 
head and front of aggressive Protestantism, and resolved to lay her 
low, so that she no longer could give her aid to the foes of Holy 
Mother Church, then warring against Spain to establish heresy in the 
Low Countries. Therefore, her cause being the cause of heaven, the 
Armada was to be worthy of her high calling, and free from those 
earthly stains which so frequently dimmed the lustre of warfare. Her 
mighty galleons bore no names of heathen gods and goddesses, or of 
the heroes of Spanish story, but were christened after the saints. On 
I :% the discipline of the Church was to be united with the 

i the navy. Mass was to be celebrated daily, and all on 

i to attend and do homage to the Host All gambling, 
y, and licentious talk were to be punished with severity, 
to accom ny the expedition. On the ships 
Hi n re not to be permitted to land. Every 

t xrs to create a good feeling between 



The Invincible Armada. 71 

the soldiers and the sailors. Quarrels and contentions were to be 
avoided, and Christian charity and harmony encouraged. It was 
ordered that every morning the boys, " according as is accustomed, 
shall give the good morrow at the foot of the mainmast, and at the 
evening shall say Ave Maria, and some days the Salve Regina, or 
at the least every Saturday, together with the Litany." Religion, 
and not war for its own sake, was the object they had in view. 
" First, and before all things," proclaimed the Duke Medina Sidonia, 
the commander-in-chief of the expedition, " all persons are to under- 
stand, from the highest to the lowest, that the principal foundation 
wherewith his Majesty hath been moved to make and undertake this 
journey hath been and is to the end to serve God our Lord, and to 
bring again to His church and bosom many people and souls which, 
being oppressed by the heretic and enemies of our holy Catholic 
faith, they keep in subjection unto their sects and unhappiness." l 

The purpose of the Armada was made still clearer by the publi- 
cation of a most offensive pastoral letter from one Cardinal Allen, a 
renegade Englishman, who accompanied the expedition as Arch- 
bishop-elect of Canterbury and Legate for England In this 
" roaring hellish bull," as Lord Burghley calls it, or in this " blast 
or puff of a beggarly scholar and traitor," as Elizabeth herself politely 
designates it,* the Cardinal certainly does not mince matters. " Spain," 
said he, " does not war against Englishmen, but against Elizabeth, 
the usurping heretic, the bastard, the issue of incest, the shame of 
her sex. It is not England," he cries, " but her wretched queen, 
who has overthrown the Holy Church, who has persecuted the pious 
Catholics, and who has advanced the scum of mankind to the sees 
of the bishops and the livings of God's priests. Let the English 
people, therefore, rise and welcome their deliverer, and follow 
no more the broken fortunes of a mean and filthy woman, 
unless they wish to fall under the curse pronounced by the angel 
against the land of Meroz. In this the hour of wrath upon 
Elizabeth and her partakers," he exclaims, " fight not against the 
souls of your ancestors and the salvation of your wives and children. 
Fight rather for God's Church and the honour of England's knight- 
hood. Fight for Christ, for religion, and for the holy sacraments of 
our faith. The prayers of all Christian people, the blood of the 
martyred bishops, friars, priests, and laymen shed in this your land, 

1 State Papers Domestic, Edited by R. Lemon. May 1 1, 1588. "Rules 
and ordinances prescribed for the conduct and government of the King of Spain's 
army at sea." 

' Ibid. June 24, 1588. 



72 The Gentletnaris Magazine. 

cry to God for your victory. The saints in heaven are interceding 
for you. The priests on earth stretch forth their consecrated hands 
night and day for you. Our Saviour Himself is among you in the 
blessed Sacrament. Fear not." 

This disloyal rhodomontade was freely circulated throughout 
England, but made few converts. However zealous certain English- 
men might be in the cause of the Catholic Church, their first thoughts 
were concerned for the safety of their country, and their blood grew 
hot at the prospect of an invasion in the name of religion, which was 
to transform their island into a Spanish dependency. Whilst as for the 
rest of the nation, it was animated by the keenest hatred and indig- 
nation, and only too eager to meet the foe and crush his daring hopes. 
" The Spanish enterprise," wrote Walsyngham, 1 " puts England to 
some trouble and charges, but truly we fear it not ; for they shall 
find us so resolute and prepared, that the good fellows who come shall 
have small cause to thank my Lord Cardinal for setting them on so 
hot a piece of service. The King of Spain must seek preferment 
elsewhere for his misbegotten brood, for England will not bear them." 
In spite of all the care and secrecy with which Philip during the last 
three years had been maturing and carrying out his hostile designs, 
the Council at Whitehall had been well posted up as to his move- 
ments. Spies, agents, and bribed informers had been busy on the 
quays of the Spanish and Portuguese ports, and had sent home the 
results of their observations. Hastening from Lisbon to Dartmouth, 
one Walker Squior burned to impart the intelligence he had ob- 
tained. " Warlike preparations," he said, i( were being carried out 
at Lisbon for some great enterprise against England ; at anchor in 
the harbour were 80 sail of hulks, from 100 to 800 tons each ; 20 
galleons, of 300 and 500 tons ; and 40 sail of Biscay ships, from 100 
to 500 tons each ; whilst quartered in and about Lisbon were 30,000 
Germans, 20,000 Italians sent by the Pope, 5,000 Spaniards, and 
7,000 Portuguese, all destined for the invasion of England." 2 Two 
months later Walsyngham was informed that the King of Spain was 
increasing his fleet and land forces from various parts, and laying in 
" immense quantities of grain, wine, and military stores." 8 Early in 
the following year Roger Ashton stated that " the King of Spain 
has 100,000 men and victuals in readiness at Lisbon ; what will 
follow, God knows." 4 The next month Drake, who by his capturing 
and burning Spanish ships and galleys had given Philip " such a 
cooling as never had happened to him since he was king," wrote to 

1 State Papers Domestic, July 20, 1588. • Ibid. Feb. 4, 1586. 

• Ibid. Dec io, 1585. * Ibid. March 29, 1587. 



The Invincible Armada. 7$ 

Secretary Wolley that " great preparations are making for the inva- 
sion of England," and that he intended to intercept the Spanish fleet 
coming out of the Straits before it joined the king's forces. 1 He, 
however, urged the Secretary to prepare for the worst. Spies, 
captains of merchant vessels, foreign sailors, pilots, all re-echoed the 
advice of Drake, and bade England keep a sharp look-out, and not 
be taken at a disadvantage. One ship coming from Lisbon, we 
learn, had its master and certain of the crew taken and racked to 
give information. 2 

This intelligence was not disregarded, though the peculiar views 
of the queen prevented it from being acted upon in the thorough 
and decided manner such an emergency required. The Armada 
did not turn her bows towards England until the July of 1588, 
though she had been timed to start in the autumn of the previous 
year. Various causes had, however, hindered the departure of the 
expedition from the Tagus. When the fleet had been ready to sail, 
the troops under Parma had not been ready to embark ; then there 
had been delays awaiting the result of certain diplomatic negotiations ; 
nor had the weather been propitious for a vast fleet to encounter the 
heavy seas of the Atlantic ; and finally, when all had been prepared, 
and orders were about to be issued to weigh anchor, Santa Cruz, 
the commander of the expedition, suddenly died, and further delays 
ensued on the appointment of Medina Sidonia as his successor. 
These continued postponements were of the greatest service to 
England. The few ships which then constituted her navy were put 
into commission. Privateers were requisitioned as auxiliaries. The 
best vessels belonging to our merchant fleet were armed, and instruc- 
tions despatched to Lord Howard of Effingham " to take the ships 
into the Channel to defend the realm against the Spaniards." But 
now, in this grave hour of England's need, the contemptible mean- 
ness which was the most conspicuous fault in the character of 
Elizabeth became painfully apparent Her courage was high, and 
her conduct splendid in stimulating her people to resist the foe; but, 
unhappily, she was desirous of defending her realm on the cheapest 
terms. Every vessel in the fleet was worked short-handed. The pro- 
visions supplied to the seamen were cut down to starving point ; since 
" every man's victual of beef standeth her Majesty four pence the 
day," it was proposed to alter " that kind of victual to fish, oil, and 
peas." There were no provisions in store, and the men, supplied 
from a distance with small quantities at a time, were often for days 
almost without food. " Such a thing was never heard of, since there 
1 State Papers Domestic, April 27, 1587. * Ibid. April 30, 1588. 



74 The Gentlentaris Magazine. 

were ships in England/' writes Howard to Burghley, 1 " as no victuals 
in store. King Harry, her Majesty's father, never made a less supply 
than six weeks, and yet there was marvellous help upon extremity, 
for there was ever provision at Portsmouth, and also at Dover store 
ever at hand upon necessity. " The pay of the men was in arrears, 
there was even a lack of powder ; and on the slightest rumour of the 
abandonment of the project of the Armada, the queen, in whose 
hands all the details of management lay, gave orders, to the intense 
anger and indignation of the captains in command, for the instant 
reduction of the fleet. " What did move her Majesty," writes 
Howard to Walsyngham,* " to diminish our forces on the sudden I 
know not If anything be attempted now upon the sudden, either 
for Scotland or to invade this coast, we shall do as much good for 
the service as the hoys which lie at Lyon quay. There is no master 
in England that will undertake with these men that are now in them 
to carry the ships back to Chatham. Our state is well known in 
Flanders, and as we were a terror to them at our first coming out, so 
now they make little reckoning of us. They know that we are like 
bears tied to stakes, and they may come as dogs to offend us, and 
we cannot hurt them." 

When, however, it became definitely known that the long-expected 
Armada was in full sail for our shores, and that peace was out of the 
question, the queen took less upon herself, and entrusted the 
management of affairs to her Council. And now all was activity 
and preparation, though, as we shall see, the supply of provisions to 
the fleet still left much to be desired. Every shire in the kingdom 
was instructed to make its preparations for resistance. The fortifi- 
cations of Portsmouth were strengthened ; " for," writes Lord Sussex 
to Burghley, 3 " at the queen's coronation I durst not shoot off one 
piece, the tower was so old and rotten." The maritime counties 
called out their men, and marched them down to the coast, to defend 
the ports where it was expected the enemy might land ; at Falmouth 
11,000 men were drawn up, at Plymouth 17,000, at Portsmouth 
1 6,000, and at Harwich 17,000. The Earl of Pembroke, as Lord 
President of Wales, was bidden to repair to Milford Haven, " to be 
in readiness to defend that haven, which from its depth and com- 
modiousness might be selected for the descent of the Spaniards," 
A mandate was issued by the queen, addressed to all the leading 
peers, " declaring the necessity for speedily putting the realm in a 
posture of defence to resist the attempts of Spain, and relying upon 

1 SMUt Piftrs Domtstic, April 8, 1588. ' Ibid Feb. I, 1588. 

• Ibid. Nov. 30, 1587, 

/ 



TJte Invincible Armada. 75 

their lordships to put themselves in readiness to attend upon her 
person with such a convenient number of lances and light horse as 
may stand with their abilities." In every county the cavalry and 
trained men were called out by the lord lieutenant, whilst the deputy 
lieutenants were instructed to make an inventory of the arms and 
ammunition required. The forts on the south and east coast, were 
strongly garrisoned. Orders were despatched to the inland counties to 
furnish an army for the special defence of the royal person. Private 
individuals were asked by the queen or the Council to contribute men 
and armour " towards resisting the foreign attempts against this realm, 
their natural and sweet country." Lord Morley agreed to raise 
twenty light horse, thirty muskets, and seventy calivers at his own 
expense, " though my estate at this present, owing to my father's 
fond departure, has been very much reduced." Lord Dacre wrote, 
" I can bring into the field, ready furnished for defence of her 
Majesty's person, ten lances, ten light horse, ten petronels, forty 
corslets, twenty muskets, and twenty calivers, and am right sorry 
that my ability is so weakened by long suits in law that I cannot do 
more." Lord Sandys, in spite of his " embarrassed circumstances," 
expressed himself ready to bring into the field, " for the defence of 
the queen, himself and household servants, to the number of ten 
horses and geldings furnished in armour of proof." Even the aged 
Shrewsbury wrote to the queen, offering his services to resist the 
invasion : " Though I am old, yet your Majesty's quarrel shall make 
me young again ; though lame in body, yet lusty in heart to lend your 
greatest enemy one blow, to live and die in your service." Their 
patriotic example had numerous imitators. Peers and country 
gentlemen readily responded to the call, and many crippled their 
estates to prove the ardour of their loyalty. It was the especial 
duty of the clergy to furnish horse and armour. Thus, with her fleet 
standing out to sea, her troops drawn up upon the beach, her home 
counties welfsupplied with reserve forces, her forts strongly guarded, 
and keeping strict watch, England was ready to welcome the invader. 1 
From the letters of the Lord Admiral, who, on board the Ark 
Raleigh at anchor off Plymouth, was keenly watching the approach 
of the enemy, we see the difficulties he had to contend with, and how 
he was employing his time. A brief summary of their contents will 
serve as a diary during this anxious interval : — 

May 28. To Lord Burghley, — The ships with provisions have not been sent. 
Only 18 days' victuals on board. The sheriffs of Devonshire send word that 
the Spanish fleet is ready to come out with the first wind. Will sail to meet them 

1 State Papers Domestic, June and July, 1588. 



76 The Gentlemaris Magazine. 

as soon as the wind permits. Go out he will, though he should starve. 
Beseeches Burghley to hasten the provisions, for if the wind hold as it is but for 
six days the Spaniards will be knocking at our doors. With the gallantest 
company of captains, soldiers, and mariners ever seen in England, it were pity 
they should lack meat. 

June 13. To Walsyngham. — Can do no good with the wind, as it is in the 
west, and blows so hard that only the largest ships dare ride in the Sound. Such 
weather was never seen at this time of the year. Their victuals will be out on 
Saturday, and no new supplies have arrived. The men behave admirably; none 
have mutinied, though all know they are short of provisions. Kindly handled, 
they will bear want, and run through lire and water. Intelligence that the fleet 
is off the rock. 

June 14. To the same. — Have had three days 1 continued storm, and have 
" daunced as lustily as the gallantest dauncers in the Court e." 

June 19. To the same. — On every question of moment consults Sir F. Drake, 
Lord Thomas Howard, Lord Sheffield, Sir Roger Williams, Hawkins, Frobisher, 
and Fanner as a council of war. For the love of God, let not the queen think 
now of charges. Hope that if he fall in service, her Majesty will let Lady 
Howard have the keeping of Hampton Court or Oatlands, as he shall not 
leave her " so well off as so good a wife doth deserve." 

June 23. To the Queen. — Has several times put to sea, but been driven back by 
the wind to Plymouth. Their victuals have arrived, and hopes to sail to-mor- 
row morning. Hears that the Spanish fleet has been scattered by the storm, and 
hopes to meet with them off the coast of France. Implores her, for the love of Jesus 
Christ, to awaken thoroughly, and to see the villanous treasons round about her. 

July 6. To Walsyngham. — Part of the Spanish fleet has been discovered off 
the Scilly Isles, but has been dispersed by the stormy weather. Has divided his 
fleet into three sections — himself in mid -channel, Drake off Ushant, and Hawkins 
towards Scilly. 

July 13. To the same.— Boats of all sorts have been sent from time to time 
to discover the Spanish fleet, but the foul weather has prevented them from 
making the coast of Spain. Prays God to preserve the fleet from sickness, for 
they fear that more than any hurts the Spaniards can do them. 

July 17. To the same. — Obliged to put in for water, but neither sickness nor 
death shall delay them. Never saw nobler minds than are now in Plymouth. ' 

Late in the evening of July 19 the towering hulls of the Armada 
rounded the Lizard. The shores of England were before the 
Spaniards, and the object of their ambition was about to be attained. 
At last the weary months passed in busy preparation, the anxious 
nights spent amid the storms of the Atlantic, the fatigues and 
privations that had been endured, were now to receive their reward. 
The spirits of the men on board the galleons rose high, for all were 
convinced that success was about to crown their efforts. The 
moment had arrived when vengeance was to be theirs. Within sight 
was the England who had shown herself on every occasion the enemy 
of Spain — who had encouraged the Protestant revolt in the Low 
Countries, who had robbed the West Indies of their treasures, who 

1 State Pafers Domestic, 1588. 



The Invincible Arnt&dd. 77 

had captured wealthy galleons bound for Cadiz Or Lisbon, and 
brought them in triumph to the mouth of the Thames; whose famous 
mariners had, within the very fortifications which commanded the 
Spanish ports, fallen upon the fleets of the most catholic king, 
plundered them of their goods, and then left them a mass of 
wrecked timber. But the hour of revenge was at hand, and haughty 
England, who styled herself the mistress of the seas, was to be 
humbled on her own element, and yield her lands to the foreigner. 
Forming his ships in the shape of a crescent, which stretched some 
seven miles from horn to horn, Medina Sidonia came full sail towards 
Plymouth. Hastily weighing anchor, Lord Howard hurried out of 
the harbour to give battle to the enemy in the Channel. 

Meanwhile the beacon-lights had flashed throughout the country 
the news of the arrival of the Armada. In every shire men were 
looking up their arms and saddling their horses ready for any emergency. 
Shipping was placed at the Nore to protect both Sheppey and the 
Thames. A camp was formed at Tilbury to cover London ; and the 
Earl of Leicester, who had shown himself both incompetent and 
improvident in the Low Countries, and who owed all his advance- 
ment to the favour in which he was held by the queen, was appointed 
commander-in-chief. The hour of danger, however, stimulated him 
to unwonted activity. " Nothing must be neglected," he wrote to 
the Council, " to oppose this mighty enemy now knocking at our 
gates." The queen herself came down to the camp, rode along the 
lines, and exhorted her troops to remember their duty to their country 
and their religion. She avowed it as her intention, though a woman, 
to lead them herself against the enemy, and perish in battle rather 
than survive the ruin and slavery of her people. The soldiers, how- 
ever, required little pressing to go forth and attack the enemy. They 
burned to meet the foe who had the audacity to attempt the invasion 
of their country, and to dream of forcing upon Protestant England 
the hated creed of Rome. Stories of the terrors of the Inquisition, 
of the cruelties that had been practised by Alva in the Low 
Countries, of the fate that was to be in store for Englishmen should 
the forces of Medina and Parma win the day, were freely circulated, 
and goaded the patriotism of the country into a perfect frenzy of 
wild and vindictive hate. Whatever the result might be, it was evident 
that England would only part with all that she held most dear at the 
price of her very life. " They are as gallant and willing men as ever 
were seen," writes Leicester of the troops massed together at Tilbury. 
To the commander-in-chief — "a mere treacherous minion,'' as the 
renegrade Allen plainly styled him — Elizabeth entrusted the entire 



78 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

management of all military details, and she accordingly wrote to 
him asking for advice, and the course she ought to pursue. Leicester — 
in his correspondence he signs himself Leycester — thus replies to 
his " most dere and gracious Lady." l It is true, he says, that the 
enemies that approach her kingdom are her undeserved foes, yet 
neither their malice nor. their forces need inspire fear, "for there is a 
most just God that beholdeth the innocency of your heart; and the 
cause you are assailed for is His, and His Church's, and He never 
failed any that faithfully do put their chief trust in His goodness." 
Since she has asked for his counsel, he feels it his duty to advise 
her to gather her army about her in the strongest manner pos- 
sible, to have it officered by the oldest and best assured captains, 
and to place in the position of supreme command " some special 
nobleman" Then as to herself. " And now for your person, being 
the most dainty and sacred thing we have in this world to care for, 
much more for advice to be given for the direction of it, a man must 
tremble when he thinks of it, especially finding your Majesty to have 
the princely courage to transport yourself to the uttermost confines 
of your realm, to meet your enemies and to defend your subjects. I 
cannot, most dere queen, consent to that, for upon your welfare con- 
sists the security of the whole kingdom." Accordingly he recom- 
mends her to go to her house at Havering, with the army round 
about her there; but should she wish to spend two or three days at 
the camp, she can rest " in your poor lieutenant's cabin ; thus far, 
but no further, can I consent to adventure your person." As for 
her gracious favour to him, continues Leicester, " I can only yield 
the like sacrifice I owe to God, which is a thankful heart, and to 
offer my body, life, and all to do your service." His advice was 
accepted, and the queen retired to Havering ; there she was 
surrounded by a picked army, officered by Sir Wm. Hatton, Sir 
Wm. Knolles, Sir Francis Knollys, Sir John Smith, Sir Thomas Cecil, 
Sir Edmund Cary, Sir John Peyton, Sir Henry Goodyer, Sir Edw. 
Winkfield, with the Lord Chamberlain at the head. 

Shortly after her retirement Elizabeth wrote to Leicester that she 
intended paying him a visit at Tilbury to see the camp. The com- 
mander-in-chief was delighted at the proposal. It was news, he 
said, that pleased him most next " the well-doing of your sacred 
person." He urged his " good sweet queen " not to alter her pur- 
pose if God gave her health, and assured her that the lodging he had 
prepared for her was " a proper sweet cleanly house," within a little 
mile of the camp, and that her person would be as sure there as at 

1 State Papers Domestic, July 27, 1588. 



The Invincible Armada. 79 

St James's. 1 The favourite was, however, to indite no more letters to 
his " good sweet queen." The marshy soil of Tilbury had caused 
much sickness in the camp, and Leicester, as soon as all fears of a 
Spanish invasion were at an end, was meditating a visit to Bath, to 
be cured of the low fever which was then hanging over him. He 
wrote to Elizabeth, " from her old lodging at Rycott," inquiring after 
her health, " the chiefest thing in this world I pray for;" and 
informing her that he still continued her medicine, as it had done 
him more good than any other. He hoped, however, he said, to be 
perfectly cured at "the Bath/ 1 and concluded by praying for her 
happy preservation, and humbly kissing her feet. His hopes were 
not to be granted, for he died early in September, on his way to 
Kenilworth. His letter is dated August 29, and addressed "To y 6 
Q. most excellent Ma to ." Beneath the address Elizabeth has written 
in her own handwriting the pathetic remark, " His last letter." 2 

Into the oft-told story of the overthrow of the Armada, except as 
it is illustrated by fresh revelations from the "State Papers," we shall 
not enter. On issuing from Plymouth harbour into the open 
Channel, Lord Howard gave orders to his men not to come to close 
quarters with the towering unwieldy galleons, but to pour broadside 
after broadside into them at a distance, and to bide their opportunity 
to fall upon them. They had not long to wait. One of the galleons, 
the Capitana, carrying the flag of Pedro de Valdez, ran foul of the Santa 
Catalina, and broke her bowsprit She was disabled ; it was in vain 
that the Spaniards tried to take her in tow, and Drake timely coming 
tip, she struck her flag and was tugged, at the stern of the Revenge^ 
a prize into Torbay. Among the prisoners was De Valdez, "the 
third in command of the fleet," and Joan Martinez de Recaldo, vice- 
admiral. 8 As the Armada advanced up the Channel the English 
hung upon its rear, firing shot after shot into the lofty hulls of its 
galleons and galleasses, yet all the while taking excellent care to give 
them a wide berth. "The enemy pursue me," moans Medina 
Sidonia ; " they fire upon me most days from morning till nightfall ; 
but they will not close and grapple. I have purposely left ships 
exposed to tempt them to board, but they decline to do it, and there 
is no remedy, for they are swift and we are slow." The Spanish 
captain-general was fairly nonplussed. The smart, well-handled 
English ships ran in and out, doing him as much damage as it was 
possible, always declining to come to close quarters, whilst his 
lumbering craft were useless to chase and cripple the agile enemy. 

1 State Papers Domestic, Aug. 5, 15S8. * Ibid. Aug. 29, 1588. 

• Ibid. July 23, 1588. 



80 T/ie Gentleman's Magazine. 

Medina resolved to bear up for Calais, in the hope that Parma was 
ready to put to sea. Shortly after the galleons had anchored in 
Calais roads, Lord Howard, whose ammunition and provision, 
owing to the short-sighted stinginess of Elizabeth, were running 
terribly low, and who, consequently, was most anxious not to pro- 
tract proceedings, practised a successful ruse upon the Spaniards. 
Filling certain of his smaller ships with combustible materials, he 
despatched them one after the other into the midst of the enemy. 
The Spaniards, panic-stricken, cut their cables, and, utterly de- 
moralised, took to flight in all speed. The next morning Howard, 
seizing the opportunity of their confusion, fell upon them, and 
destroyed about a dozen of their ships, besides inflicting considerable 
damage upon their fleet generally. " On Sunday at midnight," writes 
one Tomson to Walsyngham, 1 "the admiral, having the wind, sent 
certain ships on fire amongst the enemy, who in great confusion 
slipped their cables, ran foul of each other, and ran out to sea, 
pursued by the English. Out of 124 that anchored off Calais, only 
86 can be found." One of the galleasses having got ashore, the 
English rowed towards her, intending to make her their prize ; but 
after a desperate fight, in which the crew were supported by the 
French, they were beaten off, and had to make a speedy retreat. 
It was now evident to the most ardent Spaniard that the 
object of the expedition was completely frustrated. The Duke of 
Parma declined to quit the harbour to land his forces in England 
unless protected by the Spanish fleet, and the Armada was now 
flying northwards for dear life, intent far more upon seeing the coast 
of Spain than that of England " God grant ye have a good eye 
to the Duke of Parma," writes Drake cheerily to Walsyngham,* " for 
with the grace of God, if we live, I doubt not ere it be long so to 
handle the matter with the Duke of Sidonia as he shall wish himself 
at St. Mary Port among his orange-trees." The Duke must have 
already wished himself among his orange-trees. Nervous and 
confused by the complete collapse of the expedition, he knew not 
what course to pursue. He dared not return home by the Channel, 
for his men refused to encounter the English again in the narrow 
seas ; and so, after an anxious parliament with his lieutenants, it 
was resolved to seek Spain by way of the North Sea.* Crowding 

1 State Papers, Domestic, July 30, 1588. * Ibid. July 31, 1588. 

• State Papers, Ireland, edited by H. C. Hamilton. Enclosed to Burghley by 

lrf»d Deputy, Oct., 1, 1588. Directions of the Duke Medina. " The course 

t is first to be held is to the N.N.E., until you be found under 61} degrees ; 

i then take great heed lest you fall upon the island of Ireland, for fear $ tht 



The Invincible Armada. 81 

all sail, and throwing overboard all useless cargo, the Armada steered 
for the Orkneys. Howard, however, had no intention of seeing the 
hostile fleet sneak off like a whipped cur without receiving the fall 
punishment she so richly deserved. Leaving Lord Henry Seymour's 
squadron to guard " the narrow seas," the English admiral gave 
chase to the Spaniard. But English courage, though capable of great 
efforts, requires to be supplied with the ordinary means of subsistence. 
A stern chase is proverbially a long chase, but it becomes infinitely 
longer when the crews in pursuit are decimated by scurvy and 
dysentery, are weakened by absolute hunger, are in want of water, 
and are only animated by the undying pluck of their race. Sadder 
reading there is not than the piteous moans for provisions to 
be met with in the State Papers of this] date from the captains 
of the different men-of-war then watching the Channel for the pro- 
tection of England Wages were in arrears, every farthing of extra 
expenditure had to be rigidly accounted for to the queen, whilst 
sailors brought on shore sick or dying had no place to receive 
them. " It would grieve any man's heart," writes Howard, " to see 
men who had served so valiantly die so miserably." Yet Elizabeth, 
who owed her realm to the efforts of these her gallant subjects, 
though she could speak brave words to them which stirred their 
blood like a trumpet, would permit no lavish encroachments upon 
her exchequer. She doled out in miserable portions money, food, 
drink, and clothes. Even her cherished favourite Leicester had to 
complain that on 4,000 men coming into Tilbury after a twenty-miles 
march, " as forward and willing men as ever I saw," there was not 
" a barrel of beer nor a loaf of bread" to give them. 1 The one cry 
throughout the correspondence of this period is, " Nothing can 
exceed the patient and willing spirit of both sailors and soldiers ; but 
for God's sake send us provisions, send us powder, send us money, 
clothes, and drink, else we be too enfeebled to fight" Still, the 
miserable parsimony of the queen was deaf to all entreaties, in spite 
of Drake's advice that it was an ill policy " to hazard a kingdom with 
saving a little charge." 

The result of all this cheese-paring was now to tell its tale. Off 
Norfolk a storm arose : the men under Howard in pursuit of the 
Armada were too weak to work the ships — the Admiral himself was 



harm that may happen unto you upon that coast. Then parting from those islands, 
and doubling the Cape in 61 \ degrees, you shall run W.S.W. until you be found 
under 58 degrees, and thence to S.W. to the height of 53 degrees, and then to 
S.S.W., making to Cape Finisterre, and so to the Groin [Corunna]." 

1 State Papers Domestic, July 26, 1588. 

VOL. CCL. NO. l80I. G 



82 The Gentlemaris Magazine. 

compelled to satisfy the pangs of hunger with a few coarse beans, 
whilst the crews were forced for drink — the story can hardly be 
credited — to fall back upon the resources of human nature, 1 and the 
chase had to be abandoned. With extreme difficulty Howard, accom- 
panied by the largest of his ships, reached Margate: the rest of the 
fleet were driven into Harwich. " Our parsimony at home," writes 
Captain Whyte to Walsyngham,* " hath bereaved us of the famousest 
victory that ever our nation had at sea." Upon his return home the 
admiral sent to Walsyngham 8 the following brief diary of the events 
that had occurred whilst the English fleet was under his command : — 

July 19, Friday. — Upon Friday, being the 19th of the present month, part of the 
Spanish navy, to the number of fifty sail, were discovered about the isles of Scilly, 
hovering in the wind, as it seemed, to attend the rest of the fleet ; and the next day, 
at three of the clock in the afternoon, the Lord Admiral got forth with oar nary out 
of Plymouth, though with some difficulty, the wind being at south-west. Not- 
withstanding, through the great travail used by our men, they not only cleared 
the harbour, but also, the next day being Sunday, about nine of the clock in the 
morning, recovered the wind of the whole fleet, which being thoroughly descried 
was found to consist of 120 sail great and small. 

At the same instant the Lord Admiral gave them fight within the view of 
Plymouth, from whence the Mayor with others sent them continually supplies of 
men till they were past their coast. This fight continued till one of the clock the 
same day, wherein the enemy was made to bear room with some of his ships to stop 
their leaks. The same day, by an accident of fire happening in one of their great 
ships of the burden of [1,200] tons, they were blown up with powder, about 
120 men, the rest being compelled to leave her, and so she was by the Lord 
Admiral sent into the west part of England. 

July 22, Monday. — Upon Monday, the 22nd, one of the chief galleons, wherein 
was Don Pedro de Valdez with 450 men, was taken by reason of his mast that 
was spent with the breaking of his bowsprit, so as he presently yielded with sundry 
gentlemen of good quality. 

July 23, Tuesday.— On Tuesday, the 23rd, the Lord Admiral charging the 
enemy, who had then gotten some advantage of the wind, and thereupon seemed 
more desirous to abide our force than before, fell in fight with them over against 
St Alban's, about five of the clock in the morning, the wind being at north-east, 
and so continued with great force on both sides till late in the evening, when the 
wind coming again to be south-west and somewhat large, they began to go home- 
ward. 

July 24, Wednesday. — The same night and all Wednesday the Lord Admiral 
kept very near unto the Spanish fleet. 

July 25, Thursday. — Upon Thursday, the 25th, over against Dunnose, part of 
the Isle of Wight, the Lord Admiral espying Captain Frobisher with a few other 
ships to be in a sharp fight with the enemy, and fearing they should be distressed, 
did with five of his best ships bear up toward the admiral of the Spanish fleet, 
and so breaking into the heart of them began a very sharp fight, being within 



1 State Papers Domestic, Aug. 9, 1588. » Ibid. Aug. 8, 1588. 

•Ibid. Aug. 7, 1588. 



The Invincible Armada. 83 

two or three score one of the other, until they had cleared Captain Frobisher and 
made them give place. 

July 26, Friday. — The next day being the 26th, the Lord Admiral only con- 
tinued his pursuit of the enemy, having still increased his provisions, and keeping 
the wind of them. 

July 27, Saturday. — Upon Saturday, the 27th, about eight of the clock at night, 
the Lord Henry Seymour, admiral in the narrow seas, joined with the Lord 
Admiral in Whitsand Bay, over against the cliff of Calais, and anchored together, 
and the Spanish fleet rode also at anchor to leeward of the Lord Admiral, and 
nearer to Calais roads. 

July 28, Sunday. — The 28th, the Lord Admiral prepared seven ships fitted with 
pitch, tar, and other necessaries for the burning of some of the enemy's fleet ; 
and at eleven of the clock at night, the wind and tide serving, put the stratagem 
into execution, the event whereof was this : — 

July 29, Monday. — Upon Monday, the 29th, early in the morning, the admiral 
of the galleasses riding next to our fleet, let slip her anchor and cable to avoid 
the fires, «nd driving thwart another galleass, her cable took hold of the other 
rudder and broke it clean away, so that with her oars she was fain to get into 
Calais roads for relief. All the rest of the Spanish fleet either cut or let slip 
their anchors and cables, set sail, and put to the sea, being chased from that 
road. 

After this the Lord Admiral sent the lieutenant of his own ship with 100 
of his principal men in a long-boat to recover the galleass so distressed near 
Calais, who, after some sharp fight with the loss of some men, was possessed of 
her, and having slain a great number of the enemy, namely their captain* 
general of the four galleasses, called Don Hugo de Montcaldo, son to the Viceroy 
of Valencia, and divers gentlemen of good reckoning, carried prisoners to the 
English fleet. 

In this pursuit of the fire- works by our force, the Lord Admiral in fight spoiled 
a great number of them, sunk three, and drove four or five on the shore, so as at that 
time it was assured that they had lost at the least sixteen of their best ships. The 
same day after the fight the Lord Admiral followed the enemy in chase, the wind 
continuing at west and south-west, who bearing room northwards directly towards 
the isles of Scotland, were by his lordship followed near hand, until they brought 
themselves within the height of 55 degrees. 

The naval captains lying idle in the harbours of Margate, Har- 
wich, and Plymouth, with their ships dismantled and their crews 
reduced, were loud in their complaints that the enemy had been 
permitted to escape them. They cursed the wretched parsimony of 
their sovereign, which had been the sole cause of their vessels being 
sent to sea short-handed and unprovisioned, thus rendering them 
unable to avail themselves to the full of the advantages of victory. 
Yet the Spanish seamen had little cause to congratulate themselves 
upon seeing no longer the English fleet hanging upon their rear. 
Storms and sickness, as they sailed northwards seeking the open 
ocean to effect their return, had punished the Spaniards far more 
severely than ever would have been within the power of Howard's 

guns and fireships. Ship after ship, the sport of the raging tempest, 

g z 



84 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

and manned by an exhausted crew, was driven a wreck upon the 
ironbound coast. Around the Faroe Isles, the Orkneys, and the 
islands off the western shores of Scotland were strewn the timbers 
of the once mighty galleons of Spain. Their rich cargoes had 
perished in the waves : most of the sailors had met with a watery 
grave ; whilst the few who had struggled to the shore were murdered 
in cold blood by the inhabitants, who dared not give them refuge. 
A small portion of the Armada had worked its way farther south ; 
but the western coast of Ireland failed to prove itself a whit more 
kind than the sister kingdom. From the bays of Donegal to Bantry 
there was the same story of wreck, plunder, and wholesale slaughter. 
Had the Spaniards been victorious, the native Irish would gladly 
have welcomed them on their island ; but fugitive and defeased, they 
showed them scant mercy, and handed them over to the English, who 
gave them no quarter. "The Irish," writes Sir George Carew, "were 
very doubtful before the victory was known to be her Majesty's ; but 
when they saw the great distress and weakness that the enemy was 
in, they did not only put as many as they could to the sword, but 
were ready with all their forces to attend the deputy in any service. 
The ancient love between Ireland and Spain is broken." Orders 
had been issued by Sir Richard Bingham, the Governor of Connaught, 
that all Spanish seamen driven on shore should be brought to 
Galway, and scouts were despatched to explore the coast-line to 
carry out these instructions. Day after day haggard and famished 
* Spaniards were marched into Galway to be hanged or shot, whilst the 
same fate awaited their fellows in the counties of Sligo, Mayo, Clare, 
and Kerry. As the towering hull of a crippled galleon was seen dashed 
against the rocks which form the fringe of that terrible western coast, 
the savage Irish leaped down upon the beach, clubbed the defence- 
less crew, and stole all that they could lay their greedy hands upon. 

From the Irish State Papers we learn how merciless was the 
punishment dealt out to the unhappy Spaniard who found himself 
a castaway upon the shores of the Emerald Isle — shipwreck and 
slaughter are almost in every despatch forwarded to London at this 
time. Let us cull a few extracts. 

" The miseries they sustained upon this coast," writes Sir George 

Carew, 1 " are to be pitied in any but Spaniards. Of those who came 

to the land by swimming, or enforced thereto by famine, very near 

3,000 were slain, besides about 2.000 drowned between Lough Foyle 

i \ Dingle." " That intelligence sent me from my brother George," 

m to the Lord Deputy,* "that the 700 Spaniards in, 

' rrr, IrxkmJ, Sept 18, 15SS. « Ibid, Sept. si, 1588. 



The Invincible Armada. 85 

Ulster were despatched ; and this I dare assure your Lordship now, that 
in some fifteen or sixteen ships cast away on the coast of this pro- 
vince, which I can in mine own knowledge say to be so many, there 
hath perished at the least some 6,000 or 7,000 men, of which there have 
been put to the sword, first and last, by my brother George, and in 
Mayo, Thomond, and Galway, and executed, one way and another, 
about 700 or 800 or upwards." " At my late being at Sligo," writes 
Sir Geoffrey Fenton to Burghley, 1 " I found both by view of eye and 
credible report that the number of ships and men perished upon 
these coasts was more than was advertised thither by the Lord Deputy 
and Council, for I numbered in one strand of less than five miles 
in length eleven hundred dead corpses of men which the sea had 
driven upon the shore since the time of the advertisement The 
country people told me the like was in other places, though not of 
like number." The Lord Deputy made a journey from Dublin to 
the west coast, and he thus communicates his impressions to the 
Council 2 : — "As I passed from Sligo," he writes, "having then gone 
120 miles, I held on towards Bundroys, and so to Ballyshannon, the 
uttermost part of Connaught that way ; and riding still along the 
sea-coast, I went to see the bay where some of those ships were 
wrecked, and where, as I heard, lay not long before twelve or 
thirteen hundred of the dead bodies. I rode along upon that strand 
near two miles (but left behind me a long mile and more), and then 
turned off from that shore ; in both which places they said that had 
seen it there lay a great store of the timber of wrecked ships as was • 
in that place which myself had viewed, being in mine opinion (having 
small skill or judgment therein) more than would have built five of 
the greatest ships that ever I saw, besides mighty great boats 1 cables, 
and other cordage answerable thereunto, and some such masts for 
bigness and length as, in mine own judgment, I never saw any two 
that could make the like." Well might the Lord Deputy exclaim, 
"God hath fought by shipwrecks, savages, and famine for her 
Majesty against the proud Spaniards ! " Well might Medina Sidonia 
have warned his men to avoid Ireland, " for fear of the harm that 
may happen unto you upon that coast ! " 

Of the mighty fleet that had sailed forth from Lisbon, blessed by 
priest and prelate, to lay England low in the dust, and assert the supre- 
macy of the Catholic faith, " only fifty-six ships escaped back to 
Spain, and they were so shaken by the English bullets and severe 
storms that some of them sank in the havens." 3 Such was the end of 

1 State Papers, Ireland, Oct. 28, 1588. » Ibid. Dec. 31, 1588. 

* Ibid. Exam, of John Brown, mariner, Feb. 11, 1588. 



I 



. Li Z-ciz-:-n*z.z : 2>Tz.rzz£x£- 



. ■ ,.*i 



_1_- «• • • - - -r* 



:..i "J." Z." :.-r i. Tir— — .— «« J j*ir= i£T* -pissed sir.ce 
:.;:.ir. -i* v y - : 1.7.;- ij= rts^rz. -*i:r= :■: Ireland, and 
; li^rr::;^ i'.irrr"z. i.=ii :-i~ri 1l-;«: t-li Spanish :ral- 

iLirt •• ■ • :-■:* 1 '.?."= :":: ±e subjection 
ir:_r*_: fir^^ri :r ^e :": reiser, to the 

U". tr* «-Ti i»mrt tji-. t^ ic n i^i 7.resci cij. zear dat our unpro- 
:t'r.^i t.\jr. \'j*sl zziy ll_ 1 ^:ty :: :h= greed 02" aggressive but 
l~.yy* -~j-:.ti C-tT~.*."v. Y±i ill r-:h diszial forebodings have 
r.fvtT i-i-tr., *r.d *=rt art s"~t r-tver -ail! be. realised. Whoever be 
::.t er.tr-'v -»h> h-:Ids rli dee: ani collects his forces for the 
wr.'. .■;■: o: Er.glar.c, he "»-H r.nd :ha: history repeats itself with a 
izrriij'.'z r;.or-o:ony; for assuredly the same punishment, varied 
p';rr.aj/v in its details, but no: the less deterrent and complete, 
will be 'ieait out to him as, in the days of Howard and of Drake, was 
dealt out to the Spaniard. 

ALEX. CHARLES EWALD. 




1* 




1 



87 



SOME ANIMAL BIOGRAPHIES 
AND THEIR LESSONS. 

Part I. 

ALLUSION has already been made in these pages to that most 
fundamental proposition of modern biology which maintains 
that " Community in development reveals community of descent" 
It has also been shown at length, that, in the eyes of modern natural- 
ists, the development of an animal or plant is regarded as affording 
a clue to the manner of its evolution or descent from pre-existing 
forms. The formation of a living being to-day, in other words, 
repeats for us the formation of its race and species in time past. So 
that, once again to quote Darwin's words, " We can understand how 
it is that, in the eyes of most naturalists, the structure of the embryo 
is even more important for classification than that of the adult" 
Or, again, "embryology (or development) rises greatly in interest, 
when we look at the embryo as a picture, more or less obscured, of 
the progenitor, either in its adult or larval state, of all the members 
of the same great class." Second to none in interest, in the eyes of 
modern biologists, are the phenomena presented to them in the 
formation of the animal or the plant frame. In former years, the 
mystery of development was great indeed. There could be offered 
in the past decade of biology no reason — appealing sufficiently to 
the rational intellect as explanatory of the events in question — why a 
frog in its development should appear first as a gill-breathing fish, 
later on as a tailed newt-like creature, and ultimately as a tailless 
lung-breathing amphibian. Nor could natural historians in the past 
venture to account in more lucid fashion for the curious changes 
which a butterfly or beetle undergoes in its progress from the days of 
its youth towards the adult form, and from the stage of the crawling 
grub, through that of the quiescent chrysalis, to the full-fledged 
"Imago" with its wings. Kirby and Spence summed up and dis- 
missed such matters in a manner — unfortunately for the free play of 
intellectual vigour, not quite extinct in these latter days — which said 
much, perhaps, for faith, but little or nothing for reason and 
science. These famous entomologists held that insects passed 



88 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

through a metamorphosis because " such is the will of the Creator * ; 
and they supplement this " confession of faith " with an attempt at a 
scientific explanation by the further assertion that, insects being 
voracious in their feeding-habits, especially in earlier life, perform an 
important function in the economy of Nature in that they remove 
from the earth's surface " superabundant and decaying animal and 
vegetable matter." A further reason for this providential arrange- 
ment was given in the fact, that, as " unusual powers of multiplica- 
tion" were indispensable for recruiting the ranks of the insect 
scavengers, and as nutrition and reproduction are incompatible 
functions, the removal of decaying matter during the youthful stages 
of the insect's life was to be regarded as a convenient subdivision 
of its labours, seeing that its adult existence is spent in the work of 
reproducing its race. But it might easily be shown that, whilst a 
goodly number of larval insects do feed upon carrion, a large 
proportion of the class does not exhibit any such habit ; and it 
might reasonably enough be maintained that the argument of 
Kirby and Spence is open to the serious objection that, in its 
character, it tends to illustrate the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy. 
Decaying matter exists, therefore insects were designed to pass 
through a metamorphosis, and were gifted with voracity of dis- 
position that they might remove the said matter from the earth's 
surface — a proposition vitiated in its exactitude by the fact just 
mentioned that many insects do not eat such matter; and also by the 
further facts that many do not undergo a metamorphosis at all ; that 
many voracious caterpillars, instead of eating decaying matter, destroy 
our trees and flowers ; and that many of Nature's scavengers of 
higher and lower rank than the insects do not pass through a series 
of changes in development, but grow, nourish themselves in the 
exercise of their sanitary work, and likewise, at the same time, and as 
adult forms, reproduce their species and continue their race in time. 
Clearly, then, the explanation of Kirby and Spence affords no satis- 
faction to the contemplative mind in the natural anxiety and desire 
to discover the causes of things. At its very best, such explanation 
leaves " the reason why " untouched ; and conversely, it can well be 
understood how any other system of thought, which presents a more 
satisfactory method of accounting for the facts in question, should find 
ready acceptance as expanding and enlarging the thoughts of men. 

In a former paper 1 we discussed the meaning of the remarkable 
likenesses which can be readily proved as matters of fact and obser- 

1 See article, "Animal Development and what it Teaches, w ' Gcntlematts 
Magazine for January 1880. 



Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. 89 

vation to exist between the early stages in the development of very 
different animals. A sponge, a sea-squirt, a lancelet, and even higher 
animals still, appear in the first beginnings of their existence to pursue 
a remarkably similar course; each form parting company with its 
fellows at a given stage on the way of development, and thereafter 
passing by the special pathway of its race towards the adult and perfect 
stage. Von Baer's axiom that development proceeds from the general 
to the special, thus declares a great truth of nature. Modern biology 
appears provided with a host of witnesses to the truth of that axiom, 
and supplies a reason for the likeness by assuming similarity of descent 
from lower life as the explanation of those common and general be- 
ginnings from which the special and varied forms of animals and 
plants are evolved every hour around us. The axiom that the deve- 
lopment of the individual {ontogenesis) is the rapid shifting or pano- 
ramic recapitulation of the development of the species (phylogenesis) 
is now regarded in biology as the keynote of the whole study of 
animal and plant formation. If we find, for instance, that the frog in 
its development is firstly a fish, then a tailed amphibian or newt, and, 
last of all, a tailless, air-breathing frog, we see in such a panoramic 
succession of changes — the development of the individual — the evolu- 
tion and development of the frog race. We read such a history as 
showing us clearly enough that the frogs have been evolved from 
some ancient fish-stock, that this fish ancestor became through suc- 
ceeding modifications a tailed newt-like amphibian, and finally that the 
newt in turn became the higher frog. Most reasonable is the supposi- 
tion and belief that, if the living hosts have descended from common 
ancestors, the appearance of ancestral features in their development is 
a most natural expectation and a highly natural law of life. That trans- 
mission from parent to offspring of hereditary features, so familiar to us 
in human existence — the reproduction of family features by the suc- 
cessive descendants of the family stock — is, in truth, but the repeti- 
tion in higher life of the likenesses to its ancient ancestry we see in 
the developing frog. On such grounds we may attempt successfully 
to explain the mysteries of development ;' and on such a principle, we 
may note in passing, it is easy to see how important a guide to the 
classification and arrangement of living beings their development 
affords. If those animals which are descended from a common 
ancestry resemble each other in their development, such resem- 
blances may be held to represent the truest of those relationships 
which it is the business and aim of classification to express. 

The chronicle of the development of animal life is, however, not 
completed when the earliest changes seen in the formation of the 



90 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

animal frames have been noted. Long after the common and earliest 
stages, described in the former paper, have been completed, there 
may be produced before us marvellous resemblances and likenesses be- 
tween animals which, when adult, would seem to possess no community 
either of origin or of other relationship. It is to these later changes 
in the animal form that we now purpose to direct attention. The 
history of those changes which more immediately precede the 
assumption of adult life, affords as valuable evidence of the evolution 
of species as does the chronicle of the very beginnings of existence. 
It is only needful to point out at the commencement of such a study, 
that admittedly the panoramic views of evolution we are about to 
discuss frequently present breaks and gaps in their succession. The 
expanding canvas of life here and there exhibits a blank surface, due 
to the erasure of the picture which, we believe, formerly existed 
thereon. There exists a second principle in nature and evolution, of 
equal importance to heredity or that in virtue of which the likeness of 
the parent or ancestors is transmitted to the offspring or descendants. 
This second principle is that of " modification " by adaptation to sur- 
rounding or varying conditions. The living being is a plastic unit, 
capable of being affected and impressed in various and often undeter- 
mined fashions by the forces of the world in which it lives. Such external 
conditions — heat and cold, food, habitat, and a host of other circum- 
stances — influence its development in the present, as unquestionably 
in the past they have modified the history of its race. In truth, the 
germ-idea of evolution is that of progressive change and alteration 
induced by the great factors — internal or innate hereditary and vital 
forces, and the external or outside circumstances of life. To the 
operation and influence, then, of surroundings, acting variously upon 
different natures and organisms, we rightly ascribe the deletion of 
stages we would naturally expect to meet with in that recapitulation 
of the animal evolution exhibited in its development As the 
geological record, through its imperfections — due to the metamor- 
phism and destruction of fossil-bearing rocks — causes grievous gaps 
in the history of past life on the earth, so the history and development of 
the life of to-day shows its blanks and imperfections likewise — these 
blanks caused chiefly, we believe, by the varying outward conditions 
under which the development of the race was carried out. Thus, if 
the main outlines of the development of the frog-race be plainly 
delineated, the pictures likewise may exhibit here but the dimmest 
possible contour, and maythere show a blank. The original fish-ancestor 
of the race must be sought for amid the fossils — possibly it may never 
come to light at all. The successive stages whereby the tailed toewt 



Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. 9 1 

became the frog, arc barely outlined in the animal world of to-day, 
and are here and there wanting altogether. But the finger-posts 
exist nevertheless, and they guide our mental way satisfactorily 
enough, so long as we trust to their indications. Even though we 
have to wade through the high tides of difficulty and dimness of know- 
ledge which obscure the intervening ground, we may walk with confid- 
ence in that sober path which is founded upon the reason that is 
attainable. As Huxley pertinently remarks in a recent manual of 
zoological instruction : " In practice, however, the reconstruction of 
the pedigree of a group from the developmental history of its existing 
members is fraught with difficulties. It is highly probable that the 
series of developmental stages of the individual organism never pre- 
sents more than an abbreviated and condensed summary of ancestral 
conditions ; while this summary is often strangely modified by varia- 
tion and adaptation to conditions ; and it must be confessed that, in 
most cases, we can do little better than guess what is genuine 
recapitulation of ancestral forms, and what is the effect of compara- 
tively late adaptation. - The only perfectly safe foundation for the 
doctrine of Evolution," continues Huxley, " lies in the historical, or 
rather archaeological, evidence that particular organisms have arisen 
by the gradual modification of their predecessors, which is furnished 
by fossil remains. That evidence is daily increasing in amount and 
in weight ; and it is to be hoped 
that the comparison of the actual 
pedigree of these organisms with 
the phenomena of their deve- 
lopment may furnish some crite- 
rion bywhich the validity of phy- 
logenetic conclusions (or race- 
development), deduced from the <2^— ' 
facts of embryology alone, may 
be satisfactorily tested." Fie. t Sb*-i.iichins. 

A survey of some typical groups of animals in relation to their 
development will provide us with satisfactory means of judging how 
far and how plainly the history of the individual repeats that of 
its race. Turning firstly to some fields of lower life, we may select 
the class (Echinodtrmata) represented by the Starfishes (Fig. a), Sea- 
urchins (Fig. 1), Sea-lilies (or Crinoids) (Fig. 4), and Sea-cucumbers 
(Fig. 3), as a starting-point for our inquiries. There is little need 
that a list of zoological characters should be enumerated by way of 
impressing the idea of the varied appearance of the animals just ' 
mentioned. But it may be remarked that, firstly, they all exhibit a 




92 The GentUmaris Magazine. 

fundamental likeness in structure, whilst they show diversity of form 
and, secondly, that such general or fundamental agreement is seen in 
the management of their internal organs — digestive system, heart, 
nervous system, &c, and especially in what zoologists term their 
" radial symmetry " — that is, their generally rounded form arising 
from their bodily elements, 
so to speak, being moulded 
around a central point (Fig. 
a), the mouth. However 
like these animals may be 
in general structure, they, at 
the same time, present us 
with very diverse forms. On 
the hypothesis of special 
creation, nothing could ap- 
pear more rational than the 
idea that dissimilarity of 
form was due to the separate 
". a circumstances of their crea- 
tion. But such an idea 
fig. a. Starfuhhs. overlooks at the same time 

their general likeness in structure; and it certainly takes no ac- 
count and gives no explanation of the singular uniformity and re- 
semblances presented by these animals in early life. The general 
likeness in question, in fact, 
simply reiterates and strengthens 
the evidence and conclusions 
that the varied tribes of Starfishes, 
Sea-urchins, Crinoids, and Sea- " 
cucumbers have arisen from a 
common ancestry. Let the his- 
tory of their development prove 
the truth and validity of this 
conclusion. 

Selecting a Starfish as the most 
familiar form of the class, we find 
its early development to exhibit 
those stages of egg- segmentation 
common to the developing ovum 
of all animals. But the special 
features of Starfish development soon begin to show themselves in the 
production of a worm-like organism, utterly different from the Starfish- 





Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. 93 

form, and which swims freely in the sea by means of the delicate 
cilia or vibratile processes with which the sides of its body are 
provided. This larva possesses a digestive system, a system of 
water-tubes and other structures, and it would thus seem as if from 
the egg of the Starfish a wholly different progeny was destined 
to arise. So unlike is the young 
organism to the parent, that when 
first discovered it was described 
by Sars in 1835 as a hitherto 
unknown form under the name 
of Bifinnaria (Yi%. 5, A.) Indue 
time, however, a secondary for- 
mation begins to appear within 
this latter body (Fig. 5, 8, a b), 
and the curious spectacle is be- 
held of the form of the young 
Starfish growing within and ab- 
sorbing the materials of which 
the B i pi nn aria-body is composed. 
So that when development is 
completed, the Bipinnaria has 
become appropriated by the new and secondary formation, which 
latter duly appears as the true Starfish, destined, after ordinary growth, 
to assume the adult form. 

The study of a Sea-urchin's early life-history reveals a striking 
similarity to the development of a Starfish. The embryo Sea- 
urchin, "in escaping from 
the egg " (Fig. 6, a b), says 
Agassiz, " resembles a Star- 
fish embryo, and it would 
greatly puzzle any one to 
perceive any difference be- 
tween them. The formation 
of the stomach of the oeso- 
phagus (or gullet), of the 
intestine, and of the water- 
tubes takes place in exactly 
: manner as in the Starfish, the time only at which these 
different organs are differentiated not being the same." But at a later 
stage the young Sea-urchin develops a different phase and form from 
those of the Starfish. It appears as a curious body, shaped some* 
what after the fashion of a painter's easel and formerly named 





94 The Gentlematts Magazine. 

Plttteut (Fig. 6, c), under the idea that it represented an adult and 
distinct being. Within this Pluteus a skeleton of limy rods is de- 
veloped, and a digestive system is also formed. Then succeed the 
final stages in development. The body of the Pluteus is absorbed 
by the future Sea-urchin (Fig. 6, d), which, as in the Starfish, is 
^ formed within and 

from the substance 
of this larva — with 
this difference, that a 
f~~* portion of the Pluteus 
is generally cast off 
as useless material, 
§■-$ whereas in the Star- 
fish the whole larva 

Development of Ska- urchin. was Utilised ill the 

manufacture ot the perfect form. There exists a second group 
of Starfishes, including the Brittle-stars and Sand-stars (Fig. a, s ), 
and exhibiting certain differences in structure from the common Star- 
fishes of our sea-beaches. In their development these Sand-Stars and 
their neighbours approach very nearly indeed to that of the Sea-urchins. 
Their larva is also a "Pluteus," and possesses a limy skeleton ; and 
it is singular to find that forms so divergent in character as the Sand- 
starfishes and Sea-urchins should thus resemble each other in develop- 
ment. The interesting group of the Crinoids, or Sea-lilies (Fig. 4) 
—well known in a fossil state under the name of " Encrinites " — 





presents us with beings that may best be described as Star-fishes 
borne on stalks. There exists, however, a well-known free Crinoid 
in the shape of the Comatuh (Atttedm) rosacea, or the Rosy Feather- 
star of our coasts (Fig. 7); this form appearing in its adult condition 



Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. 95 

as a free, unattached " Starfish " (Fig. 7, a), but indubitably proving 
its Crinoid nature, in that it spends the early part of its existence in 
a stalked condition (6), resembling the permanent state of its neigh- 
bour Sea-iilies (Fig. 4). Now, in the development of the Crinoids 
we meet with an oval, free-swimming larva, within which a digestive 
system duly appears. This organism in due course attaches itself by 
a stalk, and the future Crinoid is developed within this larva ; a new 
mouth and digestive apparatus are produced, and the adult stalked 
form is assumed. In the Rosy Feather-star such development, with 
its characteristic modifications, is well seen. Here we first see the 
oval larva, with its four bands of 
cilia (Fig. 8, a), and a tuft of 
these organs at the extremity. 
Then traces of the future adult (b) 
appear within this body. As 
development proceeds, the cup 
or body of the Crinoid is formed, 
the tentacles or arms bud forth, 
and the young Feather-star, 
already stalked (c), appears in 
the likeness of a true Crinoid. 
Here development might be 
thought to have well-nigh at- 
tained its limit. So thought the 
discoverer of this little stalked 
form when it was announced that 
in the Cove of Cork a rara avis 
in the shape of a British Stalked 
Crinoid (duly named Pentacrimts 
Eurofaus) (Fig. 7, b) had been 
found. But years afterwards, the little Pentacrinus was seen to leave 
its stalk, and to appear before the eyes of zoologists in the guise of 
an old familiar friend — the Rosy Feather-star (Fig. 7, a) of the coasts. 
Thus we discover, firstly, that Crinoids resemble their neighbours 
the Sea-urchins and Starfishes in the essential details of their 
development ; and we discover, secondly, in the case of the Rosy 
Feather-star, a further development of the Crinoid race in that this 
latter organism has advanced to a free-living stage. Also noteworthy 
is the fact that when existing in its rooted and stalked stage, the Rosy 
Feather-star closely resembles the ordinary fixed Crinoids, and perhaps 
bears a still closer likeness to certain fossil members of the group.' 
The last class of Echinoderms demanding attention is that of 




96 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

the Holothurians, or Sea-cucumbers (Fig. 3), found around our own 
coasts, but developed typically as the Trepangs and Beches-de-Mer 
of tropic seas, and in marketable form as the delicacies of the 
Chinese. A Sea-cucumber presents us with an elongated body, 
bearing a tuft of feathery tentacles at the mouth -extremity, and 
moving by aid of tubular "feet," similar to those of the Starfishes 
and their neighbours. Here development resembles that of the 
Starfishes, and begins (Fig. 9, a b) with the production of an oval, 
ciliated body, which soon acquires a digestive system. The young 
Sea-cucumber, in the guise of what is called its " Auricularia- stage " 
(Fig. 9, c), presents a cylindrical figure, with four or five bands of 
cilia, and bearing ear-like processes — hence its name. Before this 
larva is fully formed, the future Sea-cucumber commences its exist- 
ence as a growth existing near the larval stomach. The tentacles of 




the young Holothuria soon appear (d), the ear-like projections are 
absorbed, the Auricularia assumes a cylindrical form, and, becoming 
the " pupa," bears a striking resemblance to a worm. When the 
process of absorption proceeds to a further stage, the Auricularia 
wholly disappears ; and as the new body which has been developed at 
its expense elongates, the young Sea-cucumber form is duly evolved. 
Such is the course of development in the sea-urchins and their 
allies. The chronicle in question is well adapted to supplement the 
important considerations advanced at the commencement of this 
paper. There is strikingly seen in the development of these animals, 
firstly, that broad resemblance in their earliest stages which augurs 
for a common derivation, and which proves, what their adult structure 
teaches, that these organisms are simply so many modifications of a 
common plan. In each and all, the first larva gives origin to a 
second within itself, this second growth becoming the true and adult 
form; so that the first larva produces the new being, as it were 
by deputy. And whilst] general similarity in development thus 



Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. 97 

may be taken to mean community of origin, if it has any meaning 
at all, there remains illustrated to us the second principle involved 
in the study of development at large. The differences between the 
early forms of these various groups are readily enough explicable on 
the theory that adaptation and variation (acting through undetermined 
laws of life, e.g. through the influence of outward conditions, or through 
both of these phases) have been at work, evolving, from the common 
larval type, the differences of form perceptible in their present-day 
development as well as in their adult structure. This principle 
of adaptation is perhaps best illustrated by those cases of "direct" 
development — seen in some species of Holothurians and Starfishes, 
&c. — in which the young appear in the parental form without under- 
going a metamorphosis or series of changes. In such a case, the 
obliteration of these changes has probably depended upon causes 
which at present we are unable to trace ; possibly the directly 
developed forms represent the later products of evolution. But it is 
needless to remark that, on the clear evidence afforded by the typical 
development of these animals generally, the theory of their common 
origin is in nowise affected by the elimination, here and there, of 
the ancestral features of the race. Perhaps the sea-cucumbers, star- 
fishes, and sea-urchins represent the most typical and least altered 
cycles of development, whilst the sea-lilies and sea-cucumbers present 
us with the results of a more modified series of changes. But, theo- 
retically, there is little difficulty in assuming that, could we look 
backwards in time with definite glance, we should expect to see the 
origin of our sea-stars and their allies in a stock which, if anything, 
approaches most nearly to the form of some primitive worm than to 
that of any other animal form. Such a primitive form is, perhaps, best 
outlined in the larva of the Sea-cucumber itself (Fig. 9, b c). Indeed, 
the evolution of the Echinoderms from some such worm-stock is one 
of the well-founded generalisations of modern zoology. There exist, it 
maybe added, in the developmental history of the worms themselves, 
certain features which go far to support the idea of a far-back relation- 
ship with the sea-urchins and their neighbours — these latter forms being 
apparently removed very far from the worm-stock as they present them- 
selves to our view in the forms of adult and perfect existence. 

Ranking above the sea-stars, in respect of generally higher organi- 
sation, we find a very numerous and varied assortment of animals known 
as the Crustacea. The etymology of this latter term might suffice to 
convey information respecting the typical representatives of the group, 
inasmuch as the presence of a hard crust or " shell " characterises 
the higher forms, as well as many lower member? of this class. Such 

VOL. CCL. NO. 180I. H 




98 The Gentleman's Magazine. . 

higher forms are the crabs (Fig. 10), lobsters, shrimps, prawns (Fig. 27), 
water-fleas (Fig. 11), and their neighbours, which possess a " shell " — 
although, as even a tyro in zoology knows, the " shell " of the crab is a 
widely different structure, in nature as it is in appearance, from the 
" shell " of the oyster or whelk.' 
The crab's shell is periodically 
slipped off its body, to admit 
of the animal's increase in size; 
whilst that of the mollusc — 
oyster, mussel, whelk, &c. — isa 
permanent structure, attached 
S by muscles and other .-organic 
ins to the animal's, body, 
growing steadily as vrboncs 
grow in ourselves, and /form- 
ing, therefore, a much more important item of bodily belongings 
than does the Crustacean's covering. But apart from the nature 
of the " shell," the Crustaceans, as one may see in the jointed 
tail of the lobster or shrimp, are very differently planned, so to 
speak, from the Molluscs. They are "articulate" or "jointed 1 ' 
animals, and naturally claim insects, centipedes, scorpions, spiders, 
et hoc genus omnt, as 
their relatives and 
friends. Now, this 
great Crustacean class 
includes a very mot- 
ley and varied series 
of beings. At its 
head, as we have seen, 
are the lobsters, crabs, 
shrimps, and prawns ; 
its middle -classes are 
represented by the F '=- «- Wawwiw* 

" water-fleas " (Fjg. 1 1 ), whose name is legion ; and its lower orders 
are the barnacles, the sea-acorns (Fig. rz), the Sacculinas (Fig. 13), 
and a host of other creatures which certainly present us with the best 
examples of degradation in the animal kingdom, in that they exist for 
the most part as footless, often as mouthless, and frequentlyas shapeless 
organisms, attaching themselves to fishes and to other Crustaceans, 
and living the low existence pertaining to the parasite whether of 
higher or lower grade. There seems no wider dissimilarity, for 
i, between any two animals, than between the shrimp or prawn 




Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. 99 

(Fig. 27) and the bag-like Sacculhm (Fig. 13), which attaches itself to 
the bodies of crabs. There is apparently a wide distinction between 
the structure of a crab (Fig. 10) and a water-flea (Fig. n), still more 
between a barnacle (Fig. 12) and a prawn (Fig. 27). Yet in the classi- 
fication of zoology these diverse beings are ranked as members of 
the same class, and development, as 
the great criterion of classifications, 
sanctions the arrangement. Let us 
endeavour to discover the grounds 
which warrant the assertion of such 
near relationship. 

No fitter starting-point can be 
found than the development of the 
Barnacle (Fig. 12), which, attached 
to floating wood by its fleshy pe- 
duncle or stalk, inclosed within its 
shelly habitation, and sweeping the 
waters with its set of feathery plumes 
or "cirri," lives a life bordering nearly 
on the state of parasitism itself. . 
From the egg of the barnacle — and 
after the preliminary stages of de- 
velopment which are common 
greater or less degree to the personal Fi& «. Bainaclxs. 

evolution of all animals— comes forth a little creature (Fig. r4), so 
utterly unlike its parent that one might well feel disposed to reject the 
claims of the aphorism " like begets like," so universally expressive of 
the relation betwixt parent and progeny. The body of the young 
barnacle is triangular in shape; 
its anterior angles are pro- 
truded into horn-like pro- 
i cesses; and it possesses a 
L mouth and digestive system, 
single median eye-spot, a 
J forked tail, and three pairs of 
feet or limbs. In this stage it 
is known as a Nauplius ; and it 
maybe well to keep the cha.-. 
1 mind, since we shall find them to 
reappear in the progeny of animals of diverse nature from our 
Barnacle. The course of Nauplius-life lies in the direction of 
frequent moults, and by-and-by it assumes, after, a special change 





FlO. IJ. Sacculima. 

ractcrs of this little organism i 




ioo The Gentleman's Magazine* 

of skin, the form of the " pupa"-barnacle (Fig. 15, b). It passes, 
in other words, from the days of its infancy to the days of its youth. 
As the " Pupa " its body is inclosed in a bivalve shell or " carapace n ; 
two compound eyes replace the single organ of vision of the Nauplius- 
stage ; the first pair of legs (Fig. 15, b a) have become enlarged 

and appear as antennae or feelers pro- 
vided each with a sucker, whilst behind 
the mouth six pairs of " cirri," or small 
hair-like limbs (/), are developed The 
mouth appears to. become abortive in 
this stage, in which the resemblance of 
the young Barnacle to a Water-flea 
such as Daphnia (Fig. n, c) or 
Cypris (b) is sufficiently striking. 
Darwin remarks, that in the Nauplius- 
stage the young barnacles feed actively 
and increase in size; whilst in the 
Fie. 14. young of barnacle, second stage, their function is "to 
search out by their well-developed organs of sense, and to reach 
by their active powers of swimming, a proper place on which to 
become attached and to undergo their final metamorphosis." The 
concluding phases in barnacle-history are not difficult to trace. The 
body of the young barnacle becomes somewhat flattened and com- 
pressed, and, as Darwin remarks, resembles in its shape a mussel- 
shell or the water-flea known as Cypris (Fig. 11, b). The carapace 
or shell appears paramount in the final stages of development, the 
limbs and body being hidden and inclosed by the shell ; and although 
jaws exist, these organs are covered by integument, and the organism 
is thus deprived of the power of nourishing itself. Certain remark- 
able glands now begin to be developed in the pupa-barnacle; these 
organs opening by the so-called " cement-ducts," in the suckers of the 
well-developed first pair of appendages — the great feelers or antennae 
already mentioned. The pupa in due time seeks a location and 
resting-place, and adheres (Fig. 15, a) to its floating log, or to the side 
of the ship, by means of its feelers. Thereupon the cement glands 
pour out their secretion, which acts as a veritable " marine glue," 
defying the solvent action of the water, and fastening the barnacle 
head downwards to the place of attachment. Then the compound 
eyes disappear, leaving the future existence of the barnacle sightless; 
the characteristic limy formations or plates seen in the " shell " of 
the adult barnacle (Fig. 12) are developed ; the six pairs of swimming 
feet become the plumes, "cirri," or "glass hand" of the barnacle, 



Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. 101 

and by their incessant waving draw food particles into the mouth ; 
and with the production of the characteristic fleshy stalk or "pe- 
duncle " of the full-grown form — which grows from the front part of 
the body — this curious history comes to an end. Barnacle-growth 
therefore exhibits as its stages, firstly, a free-swimming larva or 
" Nauplius," with its three pairs of legs or appendages ; then a pupa 




with its bivalve shell, its large feelers, its two eyes, and its six pairs of 
swimming feet; and finally the eyeless, stalked, degraded adult stage, 
in which, to quote the words of authority, a barnacle appears as a 
crustacean, "fixed by its head, and kicking the food into its mouth 
with its legs." 

ANDREW WILSON. 



(To be concluded.) 



i02 The Gentleman's Magazine. 



SIR THOMAS DOCWRA. 

" My Lord of St. yohn's." 

AN adequate idea of the power of the Order of St John of 
Jerusalem in England, at a time when it was indeed an 
imperium in imperio, can be obtained by a glance at the history 
of its greatest grand prior, Sir Thomas Docwra. Whether in his 
capacity as courtier, diplomatist, knight, or " premier baron of 
England," he occupied a prominent position in virtue of his connec- 
tion with the Hospitaller Order, unknown in any other subject. 
During the reign of Henry VIII., Wolsey and Docwra were, indeed, 
almost rivals in power and prominence. 

The Grand Prior of St John's, whose residence in Clerkenwell 
was referred to in a former paper, 1 was always an important citizen, 
in virtue of the wealth of the English branch of the Order ; but the 
office acquired special lustre from the talents of the occupant now 
under consideration, Sir Thomas Docwra, who held it from 1501 to 
1527. He was the second son of Richard Docwra, a Yorkshireman, 
of a birth entitling his son to become a knight of justice in the 
Order of St. John. His ability is testified to by the fact that he was 
almost chosen grand master of the Order, when the illustrious L'Isle 
Adam succeeded — through the numerical superiority of the French 
knights — in obtaining, by three votes only, the much coveted honour. 
With reference to this election, Aubert de Vertot, a Frenchman 
himself, was obliged to say : " The Englishman was distinguished by 
sublimity of genius and by great skill in treating with princes, at 
whose courts he had been employed on important occasions." 

His abilities were also borne witness to by his sovereign, with 
whom he was a favourite ambassador, and by his brethren of other 
fatigues. It was during his office that the final struggles between the 
Order and the growing power of the Turks were witnessed at 
Rhodes. There is much that is plaintive in the appeals which at 
that time of their agony came to England from the beleaguered 
knights. On October 1, 1509, the Grand Master himself, writing 
from Rhodes, begs Henry VIII. to send Docwra to them. Again, 

1 See Gentleman's Magazine for October 1880. 



Sir Thomas Docwra. 103 

on November 15, 1513, came an urgent request that " Docwra may 
be sent as soon as the king can spare him"; and on November 12, 
15 15, Fabricus de Gareto wrote to the king, begging that, "consider- 
ing the urgency of thexonflict between them and the Turk, Thomas 
Docwra be sent to them." That he was not expected to come 
empty-handed would appear from a still later appeal made from 
Rhodes by LTsle Adam, who> writing, as he said, " with the Turkish 
fleet in sight," begged the king to " let Docwra and Newport come 
to their assistance, and export the coin they had collected." 

By this time the king's impecuniosity was such that he would 
have spared Docwra more readily than the coin ; and, as it would 
not appear that Docwra was ever allowed to go, it is probable that 
former appeals had all implied pecuniary as well as personal assist- 
ance. The clutches of the king and of Woisey were by this time 
on the vast property of the Order of St. John, not so much in the 
ibrm. of actual confiscation, as of polite but determined requisition. 
The confiscation was to come. 

The admiration of the king for " my Lord of St John's," 
before his mind was clouded by avarice, is apparent from the 
various important missions for which he selected him. Docwra was 
sent with the Dean of Windsor to France to administer to Louis XII. 
the. oath for the observance of the treaty of March 23, 1509. 
Again, in company with the Bishops of Worcester and Rochester 
and the Abbot of Wynchecombe, he was sent in February 15 12 on an 
embassy to Pope Julius II., and was present at the council held at the 
Lateran on Monday, April 19, 15 12. Later on, in September 15 14, 
we find him again selected as a sort of " swearing officer," and sent 
on an embassy to France with the Dean of Windsor and the Earl of 
Worcester *" to take the oath of Louis, King of France, for observing 
the treaty of peace concluded between England and France on 
August 7 last, in which treaty the King of France agrees to marry the 
Princess Mary, sister of the King of England." 

Again, four years later, Sir Thomas Docwra took part in one of 
the most magnificent embassies ever sent from England to France, 
his colleagues being the Bishop of Ely and the Earl of Worcester. 
By their commission, they were empowered to " treat for an inter- 
view between the King and the King of France, and for the 
comprehension of the King and kingdom of Scotland " ; also to 
deliver, on receipt of 50,000 francs in crowns of gold, the city of 
Tournay and others to Francis or his deputies. The embassy was 
on such a scale as to require twenty-six vessels to convey it to 
Calais ; and a gleam of the ludicrous shines out of the faded pages, 
as we read in a pitiful letter to Woisey, from the Bishop of Ely, that 



104 2H** Gentleman s Magazine* 

it was " the sickest passage that ever I had" The result of the 
mission was satisfactory : ^the French king took his oath to the treaty 
of October 2, in great state, on December 14, 1518, in presence of 
the English ambassadors ; and we learn that on this occasion " my 
Lord of St John's was dressed in black satin." On this occasion 
the celebrated meeting of the Field of the Cloth of Gold was arranged, 
and Sir Thomas Docwra appeared there on Wolse/s staff After 
Wolsey and his immediate retinue came, we are told, "five or six 
bishops, with the Grand Prior of Jerusalem, and several prothonotaries, 
in crimson and black velvet, and wearing great gold chains. Then 
came 100 archers of the king's guards, well mounted, with their 
bows bent, and their quivers at their sides." At the tournament 
which followed, Docwra acted as one of the judges. 

At the meeting between Henry and Charles V. at Gravelines in 
July, 1520, Docwra accompanied the English king; and in the 
following year, when Wolsey presided over a conference of ambassa- 
dors at Calais, he was accompanied by the Prior of St John's, who, 
with Sir Thomas Boleyn, was sent on a special mission immediately 
afterwards to the Emperor Charles. 

These facts show the importance attached by Henry VIII. to Sir 
Thomas Docwra's services as a diplomatist abroad. The position 
which we find him occupying at home was no less honourable. It 
was twofold. He had his own kingdom in Cierkenwell, and did 
much to adorn and complete the old priory. He even acted as a 
viceroy there, for we find many orders issued that " Islington, 
Holloway, St John Street, Cowcross, Charter-house Lane, &c 
were to be searched for suspected persons by my Lord of St John's, 
or such as he shall think meet for it" 

He also had solemn functions of state to perform. We find him, 
for example, in his place in Parliament as the premier baron of the 
realm, in February 15 15, " among the triers of a petition from Gas- 
cony" ; and, on another occasion, we find him one of the eighteen 
peers before whom the Duke of Buckingham was tried and convicted. 
He seems to have been a constant guest at court on all great 
occasions. As an instance, the following extract from a contem- 
porary letter may be given : " Returned in great state with big 
drums and trumpets to Greenwich — heard mass — then went to 
dinner. Had at their table an archbishop, the Duke of Norfolk, the 
Treasurer, the Admiral, the Viceroy of Ireland, and the Prior of St 
John's. After dinner, the king armed himself cap-a-pie % and ran 
thirty courses, capsizing his opponents, horse and all." 

Until Wolsey's position with the king made the Grand Prior a 

igerous rival, the two lived on the most friendly terms. In 



Sir Thomas Docwra. 105 

November 15 15, on the occasion of the great ceremony when 
Wolsey received the cardinal's hat, Docwra was present ; as also in 
the following year when the Cardinal gave a banquet to the Scottish 
ambassadors. On all purely ceremonial occasions, also, the Prior of 
St John's invariably accompanied the Cardinal. The latter was not 
at any time a loser by his friendship with the head of the wealthy 
Hospitallers. In the old MSS., giving an inventory of Wolsey's 
household goods, we find such entries as the following: " Changeable 
silk, green and yellow, given by my Lord of St John's; " — " Sixteen 
window-carpets, received from my Lord of St John's, 8th December, 
16th Hen. VIII. ";— »" Twelve carpets of beyond-sea making, received 
from my Lord of St John's, 18th January, 18th Henry VIII." ; — and 
" a table carpet given to my lord by the Lord of St John's, 20th 
December, 20th Henry VIII." 

The life at Clerkenwell Priory — always comfortable — was luxu- 
rious when the Prior was there. Royalty itself reserved the right of 
a place. Nor was the king satisfied with the right of dining himself 
at the Grand Prior's table : he claimed also the privilege of sending 
such members of his household and court as he might find it 
inconvenient to provide for elsewhere. As has been truly said, " It 
was indeed a long price which the community had to pay for the 
presence and countenance of the monarch, and it sometimes weighed 
heavily on their finances." But towards the end of Docwra's life 
a marked change came over his relations with the king and Wolsey. 
He was rarely found at court; and the extant correspondence is 
generally composed of demands from Wolsey for part of the property 
of the Order for the king's service — the style of which may be 
guessed from the following sentence with which one of these requisi- 
tions concludes : " I advise you to comply without excuse or delay, 
according to the accompanying letters from the king." 

Sick at heart and ailing in body, my Lord of St John's did not 
long survive his loss of favour. He died in the year 1527, and was 
buried " in prioratu Sancti Johannis Jerusalem," and his successor 
was the distinguished knight, Sir William Weston. 

The new lord of St John's received even harsher treatment than 
his predecessor. Stern edicts, confiscation of property, withdrawal 
of the charter of the Order — the restoration of which, by Queen 
Mary, the Prior could not foresee — all preyed on the mind of the 
chivalrous Hospitaller; and on the day when the crowning injury was 
inflicted on the English tongue. Sir William Weston joined the knights 
who had gone before. He was buried in the chancel of the old 
church of St. John, in Clerkenwell. 

FRANCIS DUNCAN. 



io6 The Gentleman's Magazine. 



BISHOPS' TRANSCRIPTS. 

THOUGH much genealogical information may be obtained 
from Court Rolls, Wills, and other sources, the main frame- 
work of an authentic and full pedigree must, at all events for the 
last three hundred years, be drawn from the registers of parishes. 
Court Rolls, of paramount importance "in tracing the descent of 
property, deal chiefly with the heirs to the properties in the manor, 
and so practically concern only the main stem of the family, leaving 
its branches, the younger sons and their descendants, to be traced 
from other materials. Wills, again, while often throwing light upon 
distant ramifications, are unfortunately not composed from a genea- 
logist's point of view, and are too often vague in detail. They do not 
usually mention other children or relatives than those alive at the 
testator's death, and of them only those to whom legacies are 
bequeathed ; and an additional obscurity in a large number of cases 
overshadows the relationships of the family by reason of the use of 
the term "cousin," common in old wills, to mean nephews and nieces, 
if not other degrees of consanguinity as well, in addition to its 
ordinary acceptation. There is confusion enough for the genea- 
logist in the every-day use of the word " cousin," which may indeed 
denote any one of four relationships to a given person, in only one 
of which will the surname reveal what the relationship between the 
parties really is; in the other three cases the surname cannot possibly 
tell an inquirer if the cousin in question be the child of the 
Cither's sister, or the mother's sister or brother. When to this is added 
the possibility that it is not cousin at all in the modern sense that is 
meant, one's pathway through the mazes of the family becomes very 
treacherous. The terms " brother-in-law " and " sister-in-law," also 
frequently met with in documents of the last-mentioned class, are 
equally indefinite, since the persons denoted may be either the 
spouses of a sister or a brother, or the brothers and sisters of a spouse. 
Often, too, the suspicion will creep in, that the testator may have 
confused the relationships of "step-son" and "son-in-law." 

But the entries in a parish register throw a flood of light upon 
difficulties of this kind. An inspection of the list of marriages will 



Bishopi Transcripts. 107 

easily lead to the identification of the brother-in-law, or afford 
materials for assigning the cousin to the proper place in the pedi- 
gree ; the entry of a baptism or burial will supply a date upon which 
Vtery much may turn. Important, then, as other documents may be in 
such matters, the highest value must be assigned to parish registers ; 
and in view of the large number of missing and dilapidated registers, 
the copies of them sent in year by year by the parson and church- 
wardens to the Bishop at his visitation, called the Bishops' Trans- 
cripts, are worthy of the greatest care and attention. In 1830, of 
the eleven thousand parishes of England, 6,000 only possessed 
registers commencing prior to 1650 ; while in the case of 2,000 
more the registers began since 1700. How many of these books 
have been lost, damaged, or destroyed since 1830, it is difficult to 
say ; and it must be remembered that the calculation above is based 
upon the date of the first entry only, and takes no notice of the fact 
that a register complete from its beginning, and legible and unde- 
fined throughout, is a very rare thing to find. 

Parochial registers were established by a mandate of Thomas 
Cromwell in 1538 ; but in 1597, it being found that they were not 
so regularly preserved and kept as they should be, it was ordained 
by the Archbishop and clergy of Canterbury that they should be 
transcribed into parchment books, and that copies of the registers 
should be forwarded annually within one month of Easter to the 
registrars of the various dioceses to be preserved in the Episcopal 
archives. This regulation was approved by Queen Elizabeth under 
the great seal of England, and confirmed by the 70th Ecclesiastical 
Canon of 1703. 

This order of things existed until the confusions during the reign 
of Charles I., at which time parish registers were greatly neglected, 
and, as a natural consequence, the sending-in of transcripts to the 
bishop became extremely irregular. In every diocese there is a break 
in the series of transcripts from about 1640 to 1660, one or two 
parishes, perhaps, sending in their parchments a year or two later, 
but all ceasing, with the rarest exceptions, before 1650. Registering, 
indeed, went on in the parishes themselves. It was ordered in the 
House of Commons in 1664 that a register book should be kept in 
every parish, in which births, marriages, deaths, and burials were to 
be entered by the minister ; and in 1653 it was further enacted that in 
every parish a person should be appointed, to be called the " Parish 
Register," to keep the register book and make the entries in it. These 
orders, of course, made no provision for transcripts, except a per- 
missive one in the case of marriages to the effect that if the certificate 



108 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

of a civil marriage before a justice of the peace should " be produced 
to the clerk of the peace, and request made to him to make an entry 
thereof; then the said clerk of the peace is hereby required to enter 
the same in a book of parchment to be provided for that purpose 
and kept among the records of the said sessions." This regulation 
was not in force for many years ; with the Restoration this irregular 
system of keeping registers ceased ; the duty again devolved upon 
the parochial clergy, and the registers since 1660 have been for the 
most part well kept, though the transcripts in many instances have 
been very irregularly sent in to the bishop. 

Of the importance of the transcripts of parish registers, apart 
from their genealogical utility, little need be said, it is so patent to 
everybody. Mr. J. S. Burn, in his book on Parish Registers, gives 
several instances of their importance. In the Chandos case a 
marriage was proved by the production of the transcript of the 
register of Owre in Kent, from the Archbishop of Canterbury's Re- 
gistry ; and the Committee of Privileges, not being satisfied with the 
condition of the register of Maidstone in 1603, required the produc- 
tion of the transcript for that year, which was found to correspond ; 
but in the claim of Charlotte Gertrude McCarthy to the Stafford 
peerage in 1825, the transcripts being called for, a forgery in the 
original Register was discovered. A woman cut out two leaves from 
St. Bride's register for the purpose of destroying the proof of her 
marriage, but as, fortunately, there was a transcript in the Bishop 
of London's Registry, the marriage was proved. An agricultural 
labourer named Angell established a claim to property valued at a 
million of money ; but on comparing the register produced at the 
trial with the transcript, it was discovered that in an entry of the 
burial of a woman the name Margaret Ange had been altered into 
Marriott Angell, and on this ground the Attorney- General moved 
for and obtained a new trial For many years the usefulness of the 
Bishops' Transcripts has been fully proved ; they have been re- 
peatedly produced to afford evidence of forgeries in or to supply 
the deficiencies of parish registers. 

Although the churchwardens of every parish were thus ordered 
to send in transcripts, and many faithfully performed their duties, 
there were very many who neglected to do so. The Canons of 1603 
were never confirmed by Parliament, and though the transmission of 
these duplicates was again and again ordered, and again and again 
referred to in the charges of the bishops, there was no legal compul- 
sion on the part of the parochial authorities to attend to their orders ; 
i consequently in not one diocese of England is the set of tran- 



Bishops' Transcripts. 109 

scripts perfect. To prepare them and send them in costs money ; 
and though they were ordered and asked for, there was no provision 
made for the payment of the persons concerned ; and in the year 
1800 the Registrar of the Diocese of London, in reply to the Com- 
missioners on Public Records, said, " I hereby certify that it is not 
the custom within the Diocese of London for any return to be made 
to the Bishop's Registry of either burials or baptisms." This state of 
affairs at last attracted the attention of Parliament, and in 181 2 an 
Act called " George Rose's Act " was passed for dealing with the 
subject of registration. This Act, amongst other details, provided 
for the making and transmission of transcripts to the Registrars of the 
Dioceses, and imposed the penalty of fourteen years' transportion for 
the omission to send them in in the proper manner ; but directly 
afterwards, with a lucidity worthy of an Act of Parliament, enacted 
that one half of all penalties should go to the informer, and the 
remainder to the poor of the parish or to charitable purposes. Such 
an Act is a fit subject for ridicule ; and, with the exception of the 
forgery clauses, it had Jjie power of enforcing none of its enactments. 
But the irregularities with which the transcripts were sent in was 
nothing in comparison with the ill-treatment the parchments received 
at the hands of the various Registrars. The same want, the want of 
any provision for the fees of those functionaries, led to their neglect 
by them ; and it was unblushingly affirmed to Sir William Betham, 
when he found the transcripts at York "unarranged and unconsul table," 
that this was so because the Act of Parliament gave no directions about 
fees. Transcripts directed in accordance with the Act went through 
the post free, but any variation from the proper mode of address 
made them at once chargeable, and they were refused by the Registrars 
and taken back to the General Post Office, where many bundles 
— "a large accumulation," says Burn — were eventually committed 
to the flames. And when they had overcome their preliminary diffi- 
culties, and were safely in the hands of the Registrars, their troubles were 
not over. They were usually strung together on shoelaces or string, 
either in bundles for each Deanery or promiscuously, the largest one 
being kept out to wrap the others in, and then they were tossed aside 
into any corner to be out of the way. No other care was taken ; damp 
and mildew worked their will with them unchecked ; mice burrowed 
into them, and then dust came down and covered all imperfections with 
a friendly veiL But a worse fate often awaited them. Dr. Thelwall, 
of Newcastle, in the GmtUmaris Magazine Tor 1819, speaking about the 
York Registry, says : " I lately saw in the possession of a friend a 
great number of extracts from the register of a certain parish in the 



no The Gentleman 9 s Magazine. 

neighbourhood, and on questioning him as to the way he became 
possessed of them, I was informed that they were given to him by 
his cheesemonger, and that copies were forwarded by the clergyman 
of the parish to the proper officer in a bordering diocese, and had 
been allowed, through the negligence of their keeper, to obtain the 
distinguished honour of wrapping up cheese and bacon." At Lin- 
coln it appears that the transcripts were tied up in parcels as they 
were sent, bundled into boxes, and those which were written on 
parchment were regularly cut up for binding modern wills. Bigland, 
in his "Observations on Parish Registers," published in 1766, men- 
tions that he had seen in a certain cathedral a promiscuous heap of 
transcripts from various parishes, crammed under a staircase in a 
place on the north side of the north aisle, upon the ground, without 
the security of a door, and exposed to destruction by damp or any 
other cause. Mr. Burn himself, in 1839, purchased at a bookshop 
the Bishop's Transcripts of fifty-eight parishes in Kent, for the year 
1640 ; and at Lichfield Mr. Downing Bruce found the records ex- 
posed to the rain through the dilapidated stgrte of the building in 
which they were kept. 

The duty of safe custody, so shamefully neglected by the proper 
officials, was not the only one imposed upon them by the Act of 
1 81 2. A clause enacts that the Registrar shall cause the transcripts 
to be carefully arranged, and correct alphabetical indices to be made 
of all persons and places mentioned in such copies, for the use of 
the public But it is needless to state that in no case has this been 
done. If the comparatively simple duty of preserving the transcripts 
from damage has been so carelessly performed, it is not to be won- 
dered at that the more onerous one of providing indices to them 
should be utterly unattempted. 

It is to be feared that in most of the dioceses the transcripts are 
still existing in a state of neglect and danger. In some, however, 
the case is different. At Chester the parish register returns are sub- 
stantially bound in separate parishes, and kept in a large room ; at 
York they are now better taken care of ; and at Worcester private 
enterprise, with the consent of the Registrar, has lately dealt with 
transcript up to the year 1700, sorting them into parishes, 
ifying as far as possible the mutilated fragments, and making a 
every transcript now to be found in that Registry prior to that 
It is difficult, however, to do anything more than tie them up 
or the resp< ive par is. Although they were required 
on 1 issued :o what size or shape they were 
I 5uld be put down. Parishes, 



Bishops Transcripts. in 

indeed, usually kept to the same form of transcript, but their sizes 
differ much from year to year. Some are written lengthways, some 
across the parchment, and some are written on paper. One large 
parish would send in its transcripts in the form of a book ; another 
would sew long narrow strips of parchment end to end, and fill them 
with writing — a form which was found eminently adapted for using as 
strings to tie the lesser documents together with, and has suffered 
accordingly. Nearly universally the large parchments are used as 
wrappers for their more diminutive fellows ; and the consequence is 
that they are crumpled and torn, and the writing in many instances 
entirely effaced with dust and damp. Some are written with a great 
amount of care, and were evidently labours of love; but in the 
majority of instances, to transcribe the register seems to have been 
an uncongenial task, and the scrawling writing and the bad spelling 
show that it was too often entrusted to ignorant hands. 

The passing of the Registration Act of 1836, which provided a 
system of civil registration, has in some measure supplemented paro- 
chial registration ; but it fills a different province, and should in no 
way cause ministers and churchwardens to neglect their duties. 
Besides, it applies only to the present, and does not relieve the 
custodians of registers and transcripts from overhauling the docu- 
ments in their charge, rescuing them from danger and neglect, and 
providing for their accessibility and safe custody. It is pitiable to 
think that the carelessness of the proper officers is allowed to expose 
such valuable documents to the risk of destruction, when the expen- 
diture of a little time and trouble on the part of well-paid officials 
would be sufficient to bring the chaos into order. Nay, doubtless, 
there are hundreds of willing hands in every part of England belong- 
ing to heads endowed with every capacity requisite, who would gladly 
accept the task as a labour of love, were permission given. And, 
indeed, the work is chiefly a mechanical one ; the untying dusty 
bundles, separating mouldy and adhering transcripts, and sorting 
them out into parishes, requires little more than patience and the 
most ordinary knowledge of ancient handwriting. To make'a list of 
every parchment is a light task; to tie them up in brown paper 
parcels requires only care ; and the storing of them in safety after- 
wards is but a small thing to require of those whose neglect has 
made such operations necessary, and to whom these archives ought 
to be a pride, though too often they are a standing disgrace. 

JOHN AMPHLETT. 



ii2 The Gentleman's Magazine, 



SCIENCE NOTES. 



The Earthquake Liabilities of London. 

THE recent Agram earthquakes and the subsequent minor 
tremblings of a part of Scotland naturally lead us to ask 
whether a period of subterranean activity is approaching, and 
whether we may have such visitations in England. To the in- 
habitants of modern London this is a very serious question. By 
" modern " London I mean that portion which has been built since 
the operation of " creating ground-rents " was invented, and has been 
actively carried on. 

This peculiar operation, if I understand it rightly, consists in 
buying a bit of land near any suburban railway station, building 
thereon some houses of villainously dishonest construction, but of 
showy exterior, calling them " villa residences to be sold or let " on 
the usual 99 years' lease, and at a high ground-rent. This ground- 
rent is sold to investors at a price nearly equal to the cost of the 
building and land, so that the cute operator can afford to sell the 
lease of the house itself at a very low price. The victim who buys 
the lease of the " desirable villa residence " discovers at the end of 
about five years that the annual cost of repairs and patchwork 
necessary to hold the thing together is nearly equivalent to the whole 
nett rental obtainable after paying the ground-rent ; but as he must 
pay the ground-rent, he holds on. 

I refer to these because they render the earthquake question so 
very serious. Hundreds of thousands of people are now residing in 
such houses with upper-story walls of only one brick thickness. 
Upon these walls the roofs entirely depend, and the framework of 
these roofs is the flimsiest that can, by the exercise of the utmost 
structural ingenuity, be made to hold together until the purchasing 
victim is hooked. The principals, rafters, tie-beams, king-posts, &c 9 
are commonly made of unseasoned wood, which ultimately shrinks, 
and renders the whole structure more or less shaky. 

What, then, must happen if London receives even a very slight 

thquake shock? Calabrian experience shows that such shocks 



Science Notes. 113 

ptoduce Curious displacements of the stones of which buildings are 
constructed. The tremor causes them to slide and turn upon each 
other, and overlap accordingly on the wall-face. Where the building 
stones are broad, this may occur to a considerable extent without 
destruction of the building, the remaining thickness of the displaced 
stone leaving sufficient bearing upon that below it. But where the 
bearing-thickness is but 4i to 9 inches, a displacement of anything 
above 2^ to 4^ inches must be fatal. With the rotten mortar used 
by the ground-rent creators, this amount of displacement may easily 
occur ; and when it does, the roof must fall, burying all within the 
house. A single shock as severe as some of those which damaged 
Agram would kill half a million of people in and around London. 

Is there any good and sufficient geological reason why London 
should be less liable to earthquakes than other European cities? and 
why England generally should suffer less than continental Europe, or 
even less than Scotland ? 

I think there is. My reasons for this conclusion will be better 
understood if the reader will refer to the last paragraph of page 752 
in the last number of this magazine. The uptilted strata then 
described, besides being very numerous one above the other and of 
varying structure, are broken through in a great many places by 
faults and by the trap dykes described on page 750. 

A little reflection will show that such a structure of deeply dipping 
inclined stratified rocks of great variability is specially ill adapted for 
the communication of any vibratory shock or continuous wave. If 
we strike an empty tumbler it rings freely, that is, the blow produces 
a vibration or glass-quake that runs throughout the material or crust 
of the tumbler. Now put a second tumbler inside the first so as to 
produce a compound crust analogous to loosely superposed varying 
strata. The ring will be much deadened. If the tumbler be cracked 
to represent a geological fault, the communication of vibration is still 
more effectually checked. Our skulls are constructed on this 
principle to prevent vibratory concussion of the brain. There are 
two plates of bone ( " tables" as the anatomist calls them), an inner 
and outer one, with spongy bone or " dift/oe" between them. These 
bones are elaborately cracked by sutures or stitched-like separations, 
and thus the shock resulting from an ordinary blow on the head is 
limited in its range of bone-quake. 

So with the strata or upper crust of England. The compact 

rocks capable of transmitting an earthquake wave are intercalated 

or sandwiched with soft, crumbly, inelastic shales or friable sand 

stones, which act like the diploe of the skull ; and besides this they 
vol. ccl. no. 1 801. 1 



H4 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

are traversed by multitudes of faults, joints, and dykes, that break 
their continuity as the sutures of the skull separate the parietal bones 
from each other, and from the frontal and occipital. 

London shares this advantage with the additional protection of 
resting on a deep basin of alluvial deposits, thick beds of clay, sand, 
and gravel, the most effectual of dampers to any sharp vibration ; 
and these are underlied by still thicker chalk, by no means a good 
conductor of mechanical vibrations. 

In these respects London contrasts strongly with Edinburgh ; 
England generally with rocky Scotland, and still more so with great 
Continental areas, where one continuous rock stretches over hundreds 
of square miles without a break, and is therefore able to transmit an 
earthquake shock to vast distances beyond its originating centre. 
Thus the great European earthquake of 1755, the tragic focus of 
which was Lisbon, produced greater disturbances in Scotland and 
Norway than at London. The water of Loch Lomond " rose against 
its banks, and then subsided below its usual level The greatest 
perpendicular height of this swell was 2 feet 4 inches " (Lyell). No 
equal disturbance of the Thames or of its estuary is recorded, though 
it is so much nearer to the upheaving focus. 

These considerations, however, only apply to the facilities of 
communication of earthwaves spreading from distant centres. The 
case would be quite different if the disturbing force were immediately 
below London or within one or two hundred miles on either side of 
it Slight shocks of this kind have been felt in London and may be 
again. 

Long, long ago England must have been fearfully shaken, as the 
abundant faults plainly show. In these " the vertical displacement 
is between 600 and 3,000 feet, and the horizontal extent thirty miles 
or more ; the width of the fissures, since filled up with rubbish, 
varying from ten to fifty feet " (Lyell). Such fractures as these, 
whether the effect of one or many shocks, indicate an immense 
amount of terrestrial activity and disturbance. We may indulge in 
the consolation that these ancient catastrophes have diminished 
our present liability to their recurrence; but should be deceived if we 
imagine that they secure complete immunity, or justify us in 
allowing the further perpetration of prospective homicide by the 
building of human habitations with slated roofs resting on thin walls 
made of bad bricks and worse mortar. 



N 



Science Notes. 1 1 5 



Electric Perforation of Glass. 

IF I shared the popular belief concerning the making of fortunes 
by means of patents, I should rush to the Great Seal Office 
with a provisional specification for glass sieves and ventilating window- 
panes, the sieves being made of window glass pierced with thousands 
of small holes, through which corrosive liquids might be strained, 
and other sifting processes demanding extreme cleanliness be con- 
ducted 

The ventilating window-pane should be similarly perforated, so 
that air might stream gently through it without any blast or draft, 
and without the outside ugliness that limits the use of perforated zinc 
for ventilating purposes. 

But the drilling of small holes in glass is apparently a tedious and 
costly process. It was so really at one time, but is not so any longer. 
Forty years ago, plates of glass were perforated by sparks from the 
Leyden jar. If the spark were passed directly upon a clean surface, 
the glass was liable to be shattered ; but by covering it with oil, the 
perforation was clear and without star. 

In those days it was necessary to do much laborious turning 
of the electrical machine in order to charge a jar with sufficient 
intensity and obtain the requisite spark. Now, by means of the 
RumkorfF coil, we may obtain, without any such effort, volleys of 
sparks, following each other faster than we can count them. By 
simply burying one of the terminal wires in a plate of ebonite, 
allowing its point to project just beyond the surface, and moving this 
over one side of a sheet of glass of suitable thickness, smeared with 
olive oil, each spark may be made to punch a small hole through the 
glass. Very simple machinery might be devised for moving the 
surface of ebonite regularly over that of the glass, and thus regulating 
the distances and arrangement of the perforations automatically. 

I have used perforated zinc very successfully for ventilation, 
by merely taking out a pane of glass from a skylight or upper part 
of a window and substituting the zinc. This, for the outlet of air. 
For inlet, a perforated zinc plate was substituted for one of the 
lower wooden panels of the door. By these means a moderate- 
sized room was made available for the meetings of a small class, 
which room was intolerable before; for when the door and windows 
were closed the atmosphere was suffocating, and when opened, 
those who sat near to the entering blast became shivering rheumatised 

martyrs. In like manner, a lecture theatre was ventilated by substi- 

1 2 



n6 The Gentleman 's Magazine. 

tuting a large plate of perforated zinc for the glass skylight, and 
making several lower openings, all of which were similarly panelled 
with perforated zinc plates. But these were very ugly, while the 
perforated glass would be unobjectionable, provided the holes can be 
made large enough. 



The Pathology and Prevention of Sea Sickness. 

DR. BEARD, of New York, has published "A Practical Treatise 
on Sea Sickness," in which he affirms, rather positively, that 
it may be prevented by large doses (30 to 60, and even 90 grains) 
of bromide of sodium three times daily. If the sodium salt is not 
obtainable, bromide of potassium, ammonium, or calcium, may be 
substituted. It should be taken before starting — better a whole day 
before — and the dose continued so long as the danger continues. 

He shows that sea sickness is not an ailment to be laughed at, 
but is one that does considerable, and sometimes permanent, mis- 
chief to the sufferer, and may even be fatal. The popular notion 
that it is sometimes beneficial, by " clearing the stomach," is treated 
by Dr. Beard as it deserves. The most rudimentary acquaintance 
with the physiology of digestion would teach that the stomach can 
require no such clearing, seeing that it empties itself immediately 
the digestion of each meal is completed. 

Dr. Beard regards sea sickness not as a disease of the stomach or 
liver, but as one of the nervous system. In a review of his book 
in The Journal of Science this view is described as " a new depar- 
ture." 

Such, however, is not the case. In Vol. II. of The Phrenological 
Journal, published in 1825, the cerebral origin of sea sickness is sug- 
gested on page 428, and further discussed on pages 645-6, where 
some confirmatory experiments of a Liverpool correspondent are 
described as follows : " A year or two ago he sailed for some hours 
in a steam packet, in rather rough weather, and had recourse, in 
vain, to every expedient to get the better of the horrible nausea and 
sickness thereby produced. It occurred to him at last, after various 
trials, that if he could keep his eyes fixed upon any motionless 
object, and, at the same time, completely hide all sight of the 
vessel's motion, he might thereby keep his mind steady, and regain 
and preserve his equilibrium. With this view he placed himself 
with his back towards the deck, with both elbows on the gunwale, 
and, with the palms of his hands, guarded both eyes from all sight of 
the vessel, and fixed them with a steady gaze upon the point of a distant 



Science Notes. 117 

hill, endeavouring, at the same time, to engage his mind in thought 
and abstract his attention from the vessel." In three minutes " he 
lost all sense of motion," and recovered. On four subsequent occa- 
sions he varied and repeated the same experiment, and always with 
success. 

These experiments are worth repeating, on account of their 
physiological as well as their practical interest I cannot try them 
myself, being proof against these miseries. If confirmed by the 
experience of others, an apparatus might be devised to substitute 
the palms, and guard the eyes, while leaving the hands at liberty. 
This would be preferable to large doses of bromides, which act 
rather seriously on the nervous system. 

Fireplace Reform. 

DR. SIEMENS, the inventor of the most important and success- 
ful modern improvement in furnace construction, has come 
to the rescue of the dirty atmosphere of London. He has shown 
how we may obtain a perfectly smokeless open fire, so open, so 
bright, and so " cheerful " as to satisfy all the cravings of English fire- 
worshippers, who must stare at the fire as well as be warmed by it. 

He does this by filling the back part of the grate with coke, 
and throwing upon the front portion of the heap of coke a sheet of 
gas-flame. The combustion of the gas is complete and smokeless, 
so also is that of the coke. The gas is supplied by a pipe extending 
along the lower and front part of the grate ; this pipe is perforated 
with holes about three-quarters of an inch apart, and through which 
the gas issues. The bottom of the grate is formed by a dead plate 
instead of bars, and the air admitted from below is deflected to the 
front by this plate in such wise that it shall supply the requirements 
of combustion to the gas. Thus the combustion takes place mainly 
in front, and the radiation is thereby rendered economically effective 
for warming the room rather than the chimney. 

A common fire-grate may be easily and cheaply fitted with these 
simple appliances; but for the complete carrying out of Dr. Siemens's 
improvements, and obtaining the most effective and economical 
combustion, a grate should be specially constructed, like that which 
he has used in his office. This includes supplementary devices 
consisting of a plate of copper at the back of the grate, and a corru- 
gated sheet of thin copper, or " frill," as he calls it, by the aid of 
which the air that passes through a channel below the dead plate 
bottom of the grate is heated to [about the melting point* of lead 



n8 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

before reaching the gas issue, and thus the combustion of the gas is 
rendered more brilliant and effective. 

Dr. Siemens has carefully compared the cost of this with that of 
the ordinary fire-grate formerly used in the same place. The old 
fire-grate consumed two scuttles of coal daily, each containing 
19 lbs. of coal, which, at 23^. per. ton, cost 5rV^ f° r eacn day of 
nine hours. With the new arrangement the gas consumed (as 
measured by a special meter) amounted to sixty-two cubic feet per 
nine hours. The cost of this at $s. 6d. per thousand, added to 
22 lbs. of coke at iSs. per ton, amounted to a little more than 4tV^> 
thus directly saving about one penny per day. The total effective 
saving was greater than this, as the room was warmer, no fire-wood 
or loss of time was required in lighting, and the fire could be turned 
out at any moment, or regulated according to the severity of the 
weather. Over and above these are the saving and comfort of 
avoiding the smoke and dirt of our ordinary coal-wasting devices. 

Dr. Siemens generously offers this invention free from any patent 
claims, and without any view to money profit, stating that he " shall 
be happy to furnish builders and others desirous to introduce the 
grate here described with the necessary indications to secure 
success." Some enterprising manufacturers are already advertising 
to supply such stoves, or to adapt the principle to existing stoves. 

If this invention is appreciated and turned to practical account, 
as it deserves to be, Dr. Siemens will be a great benefactor to the city 
of his adoption. What a marvellous change would come over the 
face of London if its smoke were effectively abolished ! We go on the 
Continent, and come back raving about the palazzi of Venice, and 
Florence, and Rome, &c; but all the palaces of Italy added together 
are outrivalled in number and value, as well as in architectural 
beauty, by the warehouses, banks, shop buildings, and other secular 
edifices of London, which might be appreciated as they deserve, 
were they but clean. A noble building begrimed with soot has 
no better chance of being admired than has a beautiful woman with 
a dirty face. 

Dr. Siemens maintains that "it is almost barbarous to use raw coal 
for any purpose, and that the time will come when all our fuel will 
be separated into its two constituents before reaching our factories or 
our domestic hearths." I heartily agree with him in this, and will 
add another and very weighty reason for this conclusion — one which 
Dr. Siemens does not specify. It is this : when we burn raw coal, we 
waste a multitude of precious products that are saved by the process 
of distillation in the gas retorts. There is the ammoniacal liquor 



Science Notes. 119 

that comes off at first, and which, when wedded to the waste 
product of soda works, gives us sal ammoniac, from which so many 
useful ammoniacal compounds are prepared, and which is so useful 
itself Or otherwise treated, this ammoniacal liquor becomes a valu- 
able manure. 

Then we have the coal tar, and its naphtha, from which are now 
obtained so marvellous a variety of brilliant dyes and delicate essences, 
and which is still exercising the skill of the chemist in the production 
of ever-extending varieties of appliances to modern luxury and sub- 
stantial comfort The last residuum, after the distillation of the 
material for all these, supplies us with the basis of the best of foot- 
paths; and if Dr. Siemens's principle is fairly carried out, we shall 
tread under our feet the pitchy carbon that we now draw into our 
lungs. 

In the above estimate of cost, Dr. Siemens charges the gas at 
3*. 6*/. per thousand feet, but this is far beyond its legitimate value. 
With a steady demand for coke at the price named, and a large 
consumption of gas going on by day as well as by night, the gas 
would cost nothing at the works, provided they were economically 
and judiciously managed. The bye-products would cover all the 
cost of distillation of the coal and purification of the gas. One 
shilling per 1,000 feet would repay the cost of conveying it to our 
houses, and leave a handsome dividend upon the capital employed. 
Had gas-making been a competitive enterprise we should, ere this, 
have had good gas at about this price. Dr. Siemens's estimate would 
thus be reduced to about $<i. per day for his large room. 

Be it understood, however, that in thus advocating the introduc- 
tion of Dr. Siemens's open grate, I only regard it as a compromise, 
a concessional step towards a truly rational method of obtaining a 
desirable domestic climate. This may be obtainable by applying the 
separated coke and gas to a fire-clay heat-reservoir, constructed on 
the same principle as those which are used in the Northern parts of 
continental Europe, and by the aid of which, effective and proper 
ventilation may be carried out, and temperature regulated at will, with 
the minimum consumption of fuel 

The reservoirs are heated by wood, and the only reason why 
they may not be fed with coal is the liability to choking up of their 
complex flues by the soot With the separated coke and gas, this 
objection would be obviated. I do not suppose that anything I can 
urge in this direction will have any effect, so universal and inveterate 
is the adoration of that domestic fetish, "the Englishman's fireside." 
He will stubbornly continue to sacrifice upon that altar, the open 



120 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

grate, the greatest of his physical treasures ; and therefore, an inven- 
tion like this of Dr. Siemens, which materially lessens the evils of 
such idolatry, is a great benefaction. 

Animal and Vegetable Food. 

SOME experiments have recently been made in Germany by 
E. von Wolff and others on the feeding of pigs, whose physical 
relationship to ourselves is much closer than many of us are 
willing to admit A certain number of these country cousins were 
fed on flesh-meal and starchy food, another equal number on boiled 
mashed potatoes mixed with split peas and a little linseed oil The 
chemical constituents of the food of both lots were as nearly equalised 
as possible, and the results observed. The experiments were con- 
tinued for 182 days. 

During this period, the swine fed on flesh-meal gained on an 
average 496 grammes per head daily, while those fed on the peas, &c, 
increased but 466 grammes, or, otherwise stated, the amount of food 
actually required to produce 100 kilos of live weight was in the first 
case 319 kilos, in the second 346 kilos. 

These results chiefly refer to fattening, but are interesting so far as 
they go. Had muscular energy been the test, it is probable that the 
difference would have been more in favour of the flesh-meal The 
whole subject is a very interesting one, and opens a fine field of 
research, which should be carried much further than mere laboratory 
analysis of the constituents of the food, and should especially include 
the effect of different modes of cooking 'and other preparation on 
the practical nutritive value of given kinds of food of stated chemical 
composition. 

One pound of lentils, or of dried peas, or of haricots, and, I 
might add, horsebeans, contains much more nutritive flesh-forming 
material than one pound of the very best rump-steak, or any other 
part of an ox, or any portion of a sheep ; but it does not therefore 
follow that everybody, or anybody, may obtain corresponding pro- 
portions of nourishment by eating the pulse. 

We do not assimilate the whole of our food, and the proportions 
assimilated vary greatly according to the digestibility of the food in 
the stomach and the convertibility of the chyme thus formed into 
blood The value of animal food depends less upon its chemical 
composition, as displayed in a statement of the results of laboratory 

lysis, than upon the fact that the digestive organs of the sheep or 

ok have already done the work of rendering it so nearly like animal 



Science Notes. 121 

blood that its conversion into that fluid is completed with but 
small further effort Those who are strong enough to digest horse- 
beans, and assimilate all the nutriment they contain, may feed upon 
them with great economy and advantage ; but others, with feebler 
powers, get more from beef and mutton. 

Our present cookery practice is very limited and primitive : it 
includes but little more than different methods of applying heat to 
different animal and vegetable substances. The modern chemist 
effects marvellous transformations in his laboratory, and I think the 
time has now arrived when he should formally invade the kitchen, 
and relieve us from the humiliation of depending upon the digestive 
organs of domestic animals for the preparation of nutritious food from 
its crude vegetable constituents. If he can convert cotton pocket- 
handkerchiefs into grape-sugar, he should be able, by the skilful appli- 
cation of chemical solvents and chemical machinery, to produce beef 
and mutton, or their equivalents, from turnips and mangold wurzels, as 
effectively, and at least as cheaply, as they are now obtained by the 
farmer who uses for this purpose the organic secretions and vital 
machinery of shorthorns and Southdowns. 

Green Oysters. 

ONCE upon a time, when English oysters were sold in the 
Haymarket at fourpence and sixpence per dozen, and at 
street stalls in the New Cut at four a penny, the opener of these 
cheap luxuries sometimes came upon one with a green " beard." 
This was thrown away as poisonous, the green colour being attributed 
to copper obtained from the bottom of the ships lying in Stangate 
Creek and other tributaries of the Thames and Medway, where the 
oyster-beds then flourished. As oysters have become dearer, and con- 
sequently better observed by epicures, the green variety is not only 
tolerated, but actually prized as superlatively delicious. They are now 
specially cultivated in France and sold at specially high prices. 

Chemical analysis has proved that the copper theory is a delusion. 
What then is the cause of the green colour ? 

The microscope has answered this question. It is due to the 
presence of a minute boat-shaped creature that lives in brackish 
water, and which, while living, has a cobalt blue colour. It now 
bears the name of Navicula ostrearia. It is one of the diatoms, those 
microscopic paradoxes that wander about like animals, but breathe 
and otherwise behave as vegetables, and are so abundant that you 
cannot spill a half a pint of water anywhere, and leave it stagnant 



122 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

for a while, but it becomes the habitation of a colony. Their species 
are innumerable, many belonging especially to sea water. 

About twenty-five years ago I had a curious experience of the 
migratory power of some of the marine species. I prepared in Birm- 
ingham (which is about as far from the sea as one can possibly be in 
England) some artificial sea water for an aquarium, and placed it in 
a glass dish exposed to the sunlight. In about a fortnight the quartz 
pebbles at the bottom of the dish were covered with a brown film 
from which minute bubbles arose. I inverted a glass funnel over 
these, and on the tube of the funnel an inverted test tube filled with 
water. In a few days the bubbles which rose into the funnel and test 
tube accumulated sufficiently to form an inch depth of gas at the top 
of the tube. This I found to be oxygen of sufficient purity to cause 
a glowing lucifer match to burst into flame, showing that the brown 
film was a vegetable growth. The microscope revealed a mass of 
diatoms when some of the brown slimy matter was smeared on a 
piece of glass and examined. These marine diatoms must either 
have been evolved or acclimatised from fresh-water species, or their 
germs must have travelled from the coast. The researches of Piazzi 
Smyth on atmospheric dust indicate that the latter is the most prob- 
able explanation. 

But, returning to the oysters. If white oysters are placed in a 
plate containing nothing but sea water and some of these blue 
diatoms, the greening takes place in the course of a day or two. 
The oyster opens its shell-mouth, and that wondrous structure 
popularly named the "beard," but which actually performs the 
function of gills and food-gathering hands, commences its customary 
operations. The microscopic filaments or velvet-pile of lively hairs 
that cover the gill-plates whip the water by a series of rhythmic 
movements, and thereby currents are formed about the shell- 
mouth ; these currents carry inward the diatoms, and thus supply 
the oywtcr with food that imparts its colour to the feeder, just so 
much modified as to produce a bright green instead of cobalt blue. 

An animation of the coloured oysters shows that their stomachs 
J in Dei contain the carapaces or shells of the diatoms, while the 

J Juicci arc assimilated and diffused throughout the oyster's 
i Accumulating especially in the most vesicular parts, i.e. the 
T il of the diatom, being siliceous or flinty, is not digestible 
>yi 

r hoi f been studying this subject, and has gone 
; but he does not appear to have attempted 
ft u making green soup from the diatoms 
ion of the oyster. 



Science Notes. 123 

A New Food, 

MMORIDE has introduced — theoretically — a new kind of 
• food to the French Academy. I say " theoretically," as 
he only read a paper on the subject, without supplying a banquet. 
It is prepared by working into a pulp raw meat previously deprived 
of bone and tendon, and then mixing this with bread or farinaceous 
substances which absorb the watery constituents of the meat, and 
thus form a paste. This paste is dried in air or a mild stove, and 
then ground and sifted. The powder is grey or yellowish, according 
to the material and proportions, and is said to have an agreeable 
flavour. By mixing this with albumen, fats, or gummed water it is 
made into cakes or cylinders, to be afterwards used for soups, sauces, 
&c. It will keep for an indefinite length of time when thus prepared, 
provided it is not moistened. 

M. Moride affirms that this is more assimilable than cooked 
meat ; he gives it the name of nutricine, and proposes, among other 
applications of his invention, to preserve the refuse of slaughter* 
houses, the flesh of horses, blood, &c, for the feeding of dogs, pigs, 
ducks, and fowls. 

In this I think he is anticipated by the English manufacturers of 
the " meat biscuits " that have long been used for feeding of dogs, &c. 
I have used them for feeding fowls, and found on soaking them, that 
the redundant water became a sort of gravy or clear soup, having an 
odour of cheap restaurant 

If the materials could be guaranteed, this mode of combining 
Australian and American flour with Australian and American meat 
to produce a portable, unchanging nutritious food, requiring the 
minimum of cooking, would be of incalculable utility ; especially if 
the act of union of the meat with the farinaceous matter effects an 
incipient decomposition or loosening of the original bonds of chemical 
union that renders the compound more easy of digestion and assimi- 
lation than were either of the original materials. M. Moride seems 
to suppose that something of this kind occurs, and there are good 
analogies in support of such a theory. 

The soldier, the sailor, or the workman away from home, or the 
clerk or merchant at his office, might thus carry a penny cylinder 
which, merely moistened with a little hot water, would include all 
the materials of soup, entree, joint, vegetables, bread, and cheese. 

W. MATTIEU WILLIAMS. 



124 The Gentleman 1 s Magazine. 



TABLE TALK, 

NO such tribute of admiration as Mr. Swinburne affords to the 
greater among his predecessors or compeers in the " Divine 
Art of Poetry " has ever been yielded by any poet or writer of equal 
fame. Like a true monarch of song — if so ardent a Republican will 
accept the title— Mr. Swinburne distributes among his brother 
potentates the badges of the order he has established. I am glad 
to find, in his latest essay, "Short Notes on English Poets," a 
trumpet-tongued utterance apropos of Milton. The opinion con- 
cerning Milton written by Mr. Rossetti, whose critical comments on 
the poets have furnished Mr. Swinburne with texts for his sermons, 
is too common among those who have not studied Milton as he 
deserves to be studied. " Honour," says Mr. Rossetti, " is the 
predominant emotion naturally felt towards Milton — hardly enthu- 
siasm, certainly not sympathy." Of this startling declaration, Mr. 
Swinburne observes : " Jn that case, I am simply unable by any 
stretch of conjecture to imagine what name among all names of 
patriots or of poets may be found worthy to enkindle this enthusiasm 
which the mention of Milton's has left cold. Sympathy, indeed, we 
may well feel that we are hardly worthy to offer ; for the very word 
implies some assumption of moral or spiritual equality; and he 
must indeed be confident of having always acted up to Milton's own 
ideal, and ever ' made of his own life a heroic poem,' who, remem- 
bering this, could think himself worthy to feel sympathy with the 
action and the passion of such lives as Milton's or Mazzini's. More 
reasonably may we feel as it were a righteous and a reverent delight 
in the sense of an inferiority which does not disable or deprive us of 
the capacity for adoration : a rapture of lowliness which exalts 
humility itself into something like the gladness of pride — of pride 
that we can feel, and exultation that we may acknowledge how high 
above us are men who are yet not too high for the loyal thank-offering 
not only of our worship, but surely also of our love." Admirably is 
this said, and the criticism of Milton that follows is not less excellent. 
It is, however, mortifying to find men of Mr. Rossetti's stamp treating 
Milton as though he stood apart from the poets who are the delight 



Table Talk. 1 25 

and solace of life* Neither Dante nor Shelley is the object of 
enthusiasm and adoration so strong as Milton obtains from that 
audience, " fit though few," which he claimed. Grandeur may be a 
chief attribute of Milton, and the solemn subject of " Paradise Lost " 
may warn off a certain class of readers. It must not, however, be 
forgotten that Milton abounds in pictures of sensuous beauty, that his 
range of illustration is the widest of any poet of his class, and that 
his music has a delicacy, a fervour, a grace, and a power, to which 
none but the few very greatest lyrists have attained. 

I WILL add, as a rider to this note on Milton, that it is much to 
be regretted that Englishmen of to-day still pin their faith upon 
the critics of the past century, and that the measured analysis of 
Addison and the grudgingly accorded praise of Johnson represent the 
total amount of merit the average reader will accord our great poet 
Against the stammering utterances of these most imperfect judges 
one such opinion as is uttered by Mr. Swinburne should prevail. 
It is worth while, however, to point out De Quincey's declaration 
that " Milton is not an author among authors, not a poet among 
poets, but a power among powers ; " and to note that Landor, 
who applies to Milton very exacting criticism, makes Southey, in an 
" Imaginary Conversation," say of some of Milton's more sensuous 
lines, " Here, indeed, is the triumph of our language, and I should 
say of our poetry, if, in your preference of Shakespeare, you could 
endure my saying it." To this Landor himself replies : " I would 
rather have written these two (concluding) lines than all the poetry 
that has been written since Milton's time in all the regions of the 
earth." With this praise and that of Leigh Hunt it is whimsical to 
contrast such utterances as those of Johnson and Goldsmith. It is 
pleasant to find that some of Milton's contemporaries knew his worth ; 
to put, against the servile spite of Waller, Dryden's confession, 
" This man cuts us all out ; " and the rather surprised affirmation of 
Bishop Burnet, who, while scarcely daring to put forward his own 
opinion, states that " Paradise Lost " " was esteemed the beautifullest 
and perfectest poem that ever was writ, at least in our language." 

FEW readers of " Prince Saroni's Wife," the story contributed by 
Mr. Julian Hawthorne to the Belgravia Annual, are, probably, 
aware that the central and most striking incident has been, in times 
comparatively recent, anticipated in real life. The actors, in what 
seemed at one time a terrible drama, are alive, and I can accordingly 
furnish no such particulars as may in any slightest degree tend to 



126 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

their identification. For the truth of what I state I can, however, 
vouch, inasmuch as I was actively concerned and strongly, if indi- 
rectly, interested in a portion of the proceedings. A lady, young, 
fair, distinguished, and gently nurtured, disappeared from her home. 
Communication was, of course, opened with the police, and shortly 
afterwards her nearest relatives were summoned to inspect a body 
that had been taken from the Thames. This was identified by them 
as the object of their search. Soon afterwards the missing girl 
returned home, and explained her absence by simple and natural 
causes. So absolute had, however, been the identification, that 
the responsibility of finding a tomb for a stranger devolved upon 
those by whom it had been made. Of this strange, startling, and 
almost inconceivable incident, Mr. Hawthorne has made powerful 
use. What strikes me as saddest and most mysterious, in pro- 
ceedings which are of course chronicled in official records, is that a 
young woman of gentle condition should thus perish by accident or 
crime, and that no slightest inquiry should follow her death. The 
dramas of real life put to constant shame the inventions of romance. 

THE recently published volume of Songs and Poems by the late 
Mr. Planch^ forms an agreeable and an indispensable supple- 
ment to the testimonial edition of the Extravaganzas of the same 
author, the appearance of which I chronicled. Over more than half 
a century of active life, from 1819 to 1875, these compositions range. 
It is scarcely surprising to those who remember the green old age of 
this genial and graceful writer, that a steady advance is manifested 
almost to the close of Mr. Planches career, and that the latest poems 
have a freshness and originality to which those of earlier date put in 
no claim. Youth is naturally imitative, and Mr. Planches earlier and 
more sentimental verses show traces of his admiration for Moore. In 
the comic vein which he adopted later in life he is thoroughly original. 
No strong or impetuous current of song is that which Mr. Planchd 
affords. A pleasant ripple of laughing music, however, is poured 
forth, and to such the world is seldom too busy to listen. 

THE revival of Henry Carey's burlesque of " Chrononhotontho- 
logos," written to ridicule the inflated style of the tragedies 
of the time immediately antecedent to its production in 1734, fur- 
nishes an opportunity for speculation as to the period at which 
bragging ceased to be a portion of the warrior's trade, designed, it 
may be supposed, like martial attire, grimaces, and shouts, to carry 



Table Talk. 127 

terror into the mind of an enemy Speaking of his foes, the 
Monarch of Queerummania says — 

Peace, Coward ! Were they wedgM like golden ingots, 
Or pent so close as to admit no vacuum, 
One look from Chrononhotonthologos 
Should scare them into nothing. 

This is scarcely an exaggeration of the style, not only of the inflated 

tragedians of the eighteenth century, but of some of the master spirits 

of the previous century. Shakespeare, in the famous words he puts 

in the mouth of Pistol — 

Shall packhorses 
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, 
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day, 
Compare with Caesars and with Cannibals 
And Trojan Greeks ? — 

is, of course, bantering the rodomontade {face Mr. Swinburne) r of 
Marlowe's " Tamburlaine." The genius of Marlowe informs with 
poetry his most extravagant passages. Some of the heroes of Chap- 
man are, however, scarcely less contented with themselves than 
Chrononhotonthologos. Bussy D'Ambois declares to Monsieur that, 
under given conditions — 

Like death * 

Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot through all 
Honours and horrors ; thorough foul and fair, 
And from your whole strength toss you into the air. 1 

It is not only in regard to their physical capacity and heroism that 
Chapman's soldiers are boastful. Byron, in " Byron's Tragedy," thus 
harps on his own eloquence — 

I made reply to all that could be said 

So eloquently, and with such a charm 

Of grave enforcement, that methought I sat, 

Like Orpheus, casting reins on savage beasts.* 

It would be easy to multiply instances of this kind, not only from 
Chapman, but from others of our great dramatists. It seems certain 
that there was something in the behaviour of the noblemen and 
warriors of that time to which this kind of talk corresponds. In 
historical records, indeed, concerning John of Gaunt and other 
members of a turbulent nobility, expressions not altogether unlike 
the preceding may be encountered. The last writer I recall who has 
represented as bragging, a hero in whom he was not presenting him- 

1 George Chapman, Wvfo—Pfqys, page 163. Ed. Chatto & Windus, 
* Ibid, page 267, 



128 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

self, is Scott, who makes Marmion utter a cheerful boast so soon as 
he has reached the safe side of the drawbridge of Earl Angus — 

And if thou said'st I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here, 
Lowland or Highland, far or near, 
Lord Angus, thou hast lied. 

" \X 7E have had, in England," writes Mr. Proctor, from Sydney, 
V V N.S.W., " some amusing illustrations of the feeling which 
induces many indifferent public speakers to regard with distaste the 
abridgment of their speeches by the reporters. And in America 
some clever burlesques of real speeches have been written to show 
what nonsense might be expected if verbatim reports were to be 
published. I do not know, however, that a speech has ever been 
actually reproduced precisely as delivered, until now, when the 
reporters in the Legislative Council, moved by the attacks made 
upon them in a discussion on Hansard, thus literally and exactly 
reproduced the remarks of Mr. Hay, one of their chief assailants 
(the report may not be so utterly ludicrous as some of the American 
burlesques, but it has the advantage of being strictly what it purports 
to be, a verbatim report): "The reporters — ought not to — the 
reporters ought not to be the ones to judge of what is important — not 
to say what should be left out — but — the member can only judge 

what is important . As I— as my speeches— as the reports — as 

what I say is reported sometimes, no one — nobody can tell — no one 
can understand from the reports — what it is — what I mean. So — 
it strikes me — it has struck me certain matters — things that appear 
of importance — what the member thinks of importance — are some- 
times left out — omitted. The reporters — the papers — points are 
reported — I mean what the paper thinks of interest — is reported. 
I can't compliment the reporters.' It can hardly be denied that by 
taking him — hum — at his — ha — word, they have — ha hum — given 
Mr. Hay — ha — a — hum — a quid pro quo" 

SYLVANUS URBAN. 



THE 



-1 



GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE 

February i38r. 
THE COMET OF A SEASON. 

BY JUSTIN MCCARTHY, M.P. 

Chapter IV. 

A VEILED PROPHET* 

MR. MONTANA was to remain only one night in Mr. 
Aquitaine's house. He was to go on to London by the 
next morning's train. He had important work to do in London, he 
said, but he did not explain what it was. He only went so far as to 
say it was a business which now engrossed his life, and which he 
would submit to the world for the first time in London. 

Mr. Aquitaine noticed that, as they drove from the steamer and 
passed through the streets of the town, Montana glanced around him 
inquiringly here and there, as if he were looking out for places he knew. 

u You have been in this place before," Mr. Aquitaine said. " I 
can see that." 

" How do you know ? n The question was put in cold a^d 
cautious tone, and Montana drew himself back in the carriage. 

" I see you are looking about inquiringly, as if you were looking 
out for some place you had known and couldn't find it. Nothing 
wonderful in that ; we make changes very quickly here." 

" I have come from a country where changes are quicker," Mon- 
tana said. He spoke in a deep, clear voige, habitually monotonous, 
giving the impression of a total absence of interest in what was going 
on around. " Yes ; I was here long ago ; when I was a boy. I 
hardly recollect it. I am not quite certain sometimes whether I did 
not only dream of it." 

vol, ccl. No. 1802*. K 



130 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

There was not much time that day for the new-comers to see the 
place, or for either set of persons — those who came from across the 
sea, or those who welcomed them — to study each other's ways and 
peculiarities. It was somewhat late when they all reached Mr. 
Aquitaine's house, and nearly time to dress for dinner. Two or 
three friends only were invited to meet the new guests. Miss Rowan 
was seated next to a young man who, some one told her, was a 
barrister, and whose name was Fanshawe. lie did not seem to her 
in the least like any species of lawyer. He looked very young, to 
begin with. He was a strong young fellow, slender, but like an 
athlete in build ; he had short curling fair hair, and an audacious 
yellow moustache ; bright blue eyes, a complexion fair as a girl's, 
and a boyish laugh that spoke a genuine sense of enjoyment. He 
and she soon became friendly. 

" Are you really a lawyer ? " she asked him without hesitation. 

" A sort of lawyer ; yes ; a barrister. I believe the two branches 
are all in one in your country ; isn't that so ? " 

" My country ? America is not my country." 

" No ? I thought it was. I thought you were an American girl. 
You come from America." 

" So does Mrs. Trescoe. Do you call her an American girl ?" 

" Oh, but she has only been across for a few months or weeks 
or something. However, if you say you are not an American girl, 
Miss Rowan, I am sure I believe you. I hope you are not offended 
with me. I meant no harm : there are some charming American 
girls." 

" I should be very proud of being an American girl if I were 
one. I don't think there is a more enviable being in the world than 
an American girl ; except one." 

" Yes ; and who is that one ? " 

" An American boy, of course." 

" Oh, I say 1" and Fanshawe laughed. 

" But I am not an American girl," Miss Rowan said. " I am 
Irish \ I have only been living in America." 

" Do you like America?" 

" I love it. So you are really a lawyer ? " 

" Well, I shall be really a lawyer when the law-going public find 
out my merits and the solicitors send me briefs — which as yet they 
have unaccountably omitt/d to do, perhaps by reason of some vile 
conspiracy." 

"A lawyer! I should never have thought It/' Geraldine said 
meditatively. 



The Comet of a Season. 13! 

"Why not?" 

" Well, I thought lawyers were generally old and grizzled and 
grim, and that they wore spectacles." 

"When we are successful we come to that," Fanshawe said 
gravely. " That's what we look forward to." 

" Success is all like that, I really believe," Geraldine said, with 
earnestness. 

" Like what, Miss Rowan ? " 

" Like that I am sure you understand. It comes too late to 
be enjoyed ; or if it comes early it often goes too soon. It is bought 
too dearly. I am sometimes sorry for men because they have to 
try to be successful I am glad to be a woman for that reason ; we 
have not to try for it- There is no success for us." 

'.' Except a brilliant match." 

"Yes; that is. our laurel wreath, our one hope to make life 
worth enduring. Happily, we are soon put out of pain. The prize 
does not come with grey hair and spectacles. Our struggle is short 
In America we give up at ft ve-and-twenty." 

" But you are not five-and-twenty ? " 

" No ; but why do you assume that I have given up ? " 

" I don't assume anything of the kind. You have only to go in 
and win." 

" Thank you ; that was kindly said* but don't try any more like 
it Let us not pay compliments." 

V Very well You are going to London soon ? " 

" Yes ; I am longing to ga" 

" I am so glad you are going. I live there." 

" I am very glad you live there." 

" Thank you — especially as you banish compliments. Yes— I 
come from this town ; but I live in London now. My father had a 
place here once, but he sold it He got not to like it. My sister 
died here ; and he didn't like the whole place any more.'' 

"I am not surprised," said Miss Rowan softly. "The place 
where one we loved has died ; who could bear to see it always ?" 

" It was a sad story altogether," Fanshawe said. " They had 
quarrelled, don't you know — at least, you couldn't know, of course ; 
but they had quarrelled — about a love-match my sister would make ; 
and then my people would have made it up gladly, but — well, she 
died, and there was an end of it Then my father couldn't stand 
the place any more, and so he gave it up." 

" Was this long ago?" Geraldine asked, hoping that it was long 



1 3d The Gentleman's Magazine. 

ago, so that the revival of its memory might be less of a pain to the 
young man. 

"Yes, it was a good long time ago — fifteen or sixteen years. 
I was at school all the time in Germany, and didn't know verymuch 
about it until the end/' 

Geraldine liked the young man's fresh and genial manner. 
There was something about him sympathetic. His talk was refresh- 
ing. For the rest, the dinner-party wanted brightness. Mr. Montana 
spoke little, and was apparently content that people should look at 
him and ask each other why he did not speak. If he spoke little, 
he ate and drank less. He made it evident that he regarded the 
dinner as only a ceremonial for him. Mr. Aquitaine and Captain 
Marion talked a good deal ; but Mr. Aquitaine often went into local 
affairs, and Captain Marion knew nothing about even the local 
affairs of the localities which ought to have been of personal concern 
to himself. Mrs. Trescoe was not near any one she cared to talk 
to. Melissa remained resolutely silent : Mrs. Aquitaine hardly ever 
talked. 

Geraldine rose early next morning. She was an early riser even 
for Mr. Aquitaine's habits. She had lived for some years lately in 
an American town or village where it was an article of faith that no 
one ought to be out of bed much after nine o'clock in the evening, 
or in bed after five in the morning. She had fallen into the ways of 
the country with a flexibility natural to her fresh and vigorous 
nature. She was a girl of a quick and lively curiosity, and when she 
was at any new place was unresting until she had seen and learned 
all that was within her reach to know about it. This first morning, 
therefore, of her stay at Mr. Aquitaine's she rose very early. She 
had heard the murmuring of water in her ears all the night through, 
and she was in hopes, not being quite clear as to the exact situation 
of her host's dwelling, that when she went to her window in the 
morning she might look upon the tossing sea. " Sing oh ! " she 
kept murmuring to herself now and then at wakeful moments of the 
night ; " let man learn liberty from crashing wind and lashing sea ! " 
murmuring from the verses of a poet to whom English criticism has 
not yet done justice, and probably never will. When she woke in 
the morning and ran to her window she saw not the sea, indeed, but 
a sight surely not less lovely — a bright broad river flowing in the 
faint light of a breezy spring dawn. Not even the sea itself has 
had the love of poets, and of all natures that like the poet's are 
for ever fresh and young, as the rivers have had. The mother 
may, as Burns sings, forget the child; and the monarch forget the 




The Comet of a Smsom. 

crown that has only been an hour upon his head : hs no e*er far- 
gets the river of his youth ? As 
stream below her window, the river of her youth 
her memory; and with the rirer the thought of these w&o 
happy with her by the ripple of its waters ; of the father win 
father, and friend, and companion alike : and there were teas m 
her eyes. 

She was soon out upon the breezy lawn. Preparaiaocs were bes&g 
made for Mr. Montana's going. His train was starting ai an early 
hour, and Mr. Aquitaine was to accompany him to the 



No other of the family or the guests was yet stirring, Gerajdae 
saw Montana and Mr. Aquitaine on the lawn at a short &&***-*> 
from her. She was rather given to studying character, and of 
course, like most clever girls, fancied she had a distinct pft for the 
quick understanding of men and women, She had occupied herself 
a good deal in the voyage across the Atlantic in stadying the 
characters of her companions, and she was of opinion that she had 
contrived to sound the depths of each nature except one. She was 
by no means clear about Mr. Montana. Sometimes he seemed to 
her merely vain and shallow ; but at other times he impressed her 
with a certain sense of awe or dread, as if there were some hidden 
strength of dangerous will about him ; and again in other moods he 
seemed to her only a self-deluded visionary. On the whole, she did 
not like him — a rare condition of feeling with her : for her first and 
natural impulse was to like people. Most of us are otherwise 
constructed by nature : our first instinctive impulse is to dislike any 
new-comer, even though he be only a wayfarer getting into a railway- 
carriage, where he has full as good a right to be as we have. If he 
turns out a good fellow or an agreeable person after, we may like 
him well enough ; but we leave the burden of self-vindication to 
him. It is enough for us that he is getting into the carriage where 
we are already seated, and although there be ample room for him 
and us, our impulse is to dislike him all the same. Now, Miss 
Rowan's first impulse would have been to like him, and think that 
he ought to be made welcome. 

She went up to Mr. Aquitaine at once and received his wondering 
congratulations upon her early rising. 

" My daughter won't think of getting up these four or five hours 
yet I am going to see Mr. Montana off by his train." 

" May I go too ? " Geraldine asked, delighted at the prospect of 
the drive, and the railway-station, and the sights new to her. She 
had no more hesitation about offering herself as Mr. Aquitajne's 



134 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

companion than if she had been tendering her companionship to Mr. 
Aquitaine's wife. 

He looked for a moment a little surprised, but Geraldine did not 
notice his surprise, and he answered at once that he should be 
delighted to take her with him, and show her some of the town as 
they passed along, and bring her back before most of the other 
people in the house had got out of bed 

Mr. Montana had remained silent all the time. He was looking 
on the river. He had not spoken a word to Geraldine. 

"Strange," he said suddenly, turning to Mr. Aquitaine, "how 
certain scenes impress one with the conviction that he must have 
seen them before. I don't suppose I ever could have been just here 
before ; and yet the look of the river makes me feel as if I had 
known the place once. I seem to have been young here." 

" Oh, I felt exactly like that this morning," Geraldine said in 
quick sympathy with him, for once, as she thought " When I looked 
out first and saw that lovely river flowing so fast, I felt as if I were 
living all my youth over again." 

" All her youth ? " Mr. Aquitaine said with a smile. " Is it then 
all gone?" 

"It seems to me all gone," Geraldine said, "sometimes. It 
seemed so when I looked out this morning and saw the river." 

Mr. Aquitaine turned to her with kindly sympathising eyes. He 
thought he could understand her feelings. 

Montana had not been following all this. 

" Was there not," he asked slowly of Aquitaine, " a park, a sort 
of public park, here once? somewhere on the river — as if it were 
here ? I must have seen something of the kind when a child some- 
where. Perhaps it was some other river like this." 

" Why, to be sure we had a public park — a little park here on 
this very ground ; but it is some years ago. Your feet are on what 
was its soil just now." 

Montana started and looked down at the ground as if he expected 
to see some of the soil strangely clinging to his feet and in some 
mysterious way bearing testimony against him. 

Mr. Aquitaine was launched into a little local history of the growth of 
the town, the disproportionate size of the former park and the neces- 
sity of starting a new one, the important part he had himself borne in 
that work of improvement, and the strong opposition which had been 
got up, and the misconstruction to which the efforts of himself and 
others had been subjected by their enemies. Even the most liberal- 
minded residents of the greatest provincial town can seMort bring 



The Comet of a Season. 135 

themselves to believe that local improvements and the local contro- 
versies that rage around the march of their progress are not of world- 
wide interest, or at least capable of being made so when expounded 
by some qualified lecturer. 

- Geraldine listened with such intense interest and beaming eyes 
that after a while Mr. Aquitaine accepted her as his audience and 
imparted all the knowledge to her. Mr. Montana was apparently 
not paying any attention. In an undefinable sort of way he always 
put himself, from the first, in the position of one who is not bound 
to engage in any question which he does not feel to be part of 
his own special mission. He had deeper thoughts, and must 
not be distracted from them ; at least, must not be expected to 
endure the distraction long. He assumed this privilege ; and, as 
he assumed it, the people he met gave it to him without struggle or 
protest. 

" Time is getting on," Mr. Aquitaine suddenly said, looking at his 
watch ; " I have to give one or two directions j I'll come to you 
when it is time to go." 

He went towards the house and led Montana and Miss Rowan 
on the lawn by the river. Geraldine hardly ever knew what it was to 
feel shy or embarrassed in the presence of any one. She had not self- 
consciousness or self-conceit enough to be shy or nervous. But she 
did always find a certain sense of embarrassment in the company of 
Mr. Montana whenever they chanced to be for a moment alone. He 
had sought her society a good deal on the voyage. He had walked 
with her on deck now and then, in the " soft hours that fill the eyes 
and melt the heart," or while the steely light of the stars was on the 
pallid tips of the waves, and the ruddy orange glow from the stern 
windows sent that gleam over the sea which Coleridge finely com- 
pared to the light of experience illumining only that which it leaves 
behind. He had never attempted anything like flirtation with her ; 
his manner was not that of a man who cared to waste his time in 
flirting with women; but there was a grave familiarity about him 
which was, she thought, addressed more distinctly to her than to others, 
and which displeased her. It was a manner of authority, as of one 
who had known her long and had a right to direct her. It was not 
easy to explain what there was in it which seemed to imply a sort of 
special companionship, a common bond, a tie like that between 
master and pupil, guardian and ward ; but something there was in 
Mr. Montana's manner to her from the first which impressed her with 
the idea of such an assumption. There was nothing to resent ; 
nothing that she could clearly describe even to a sister, if she had 



136 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

one ; but the impression was on her, and it made her feel a little con- 
strained in Mr. Montana's company. 

It might have seemed as if he were resolved to deepen the 
impression now : for the moment Mr. Aquitaine had gone, he struck 
at once into dialogue with Geraldine, to whom he had not addressed 
a word before. 

" Who was the young man who sat next you at dinner last night, 
and talked to you a great deal ? " 

" He is a Mr. Fanshawe," Geraldine answered. " I think I shall 
go in, Mr. Montana." 

" Just a moment, and I will go with you. Do you know any- 
thing of Mr. Fanshawe ? " 

" Nothing ; I am quite a stranger here ; I never met any of the 
people before." 

" You seemed to be interested in him ? " 

" Yes ; I was very much interested in him. He seemed very 
clever and bright, and he made himself very agreeable." 

" Do you know where he comes from ? " 

" He told me he lives in London ; but that he belongs to this 
place. But, indeed, I know hardly anything about him. Mr. Aqui- 
taine could tell you." 

" Shall we go in ? " he said. 

Geraldine turned her back to the river, and they walked slowly 
towards the house. Suddenly Mr. Montana stopped and said, 

" We shall meet again in London, of course ; but I want you 
before that to think over what I have said to you. You are bound 
to help us. We want you." 

" Why I more than another ? What can I do for you— or for 
anything ? I have no power " 

" You have power." 

"Havel? What is it?" 

" You have the power of impressing men and women. If you 
had faith you would find it easy to fill others with the same faith. 
That is your calling in life. You cannot evade it. Mind, I tell you 
that You will remember it afterwards. It is your calling; you cannot 
evade it." 

" But, Mr. Montana," Geraldine said impatiently, " do pray tell 
me the plain meaning of all this. Has it any meaning ? I don't 
even know what your objects are. I don't know anything about them. 
Am I to have faith in projects before I even know what they are ? 
What am I to have faith in ? " 

" You must h^^ajif V me, to begin with ; I have faith in you," 



The Comet of a Season. 137 

Miss Rowan looked curiously at him. She was not afraid of 
his dark burning eyes. She looked steadily into his eyes, and she 
could find no meaning there ; no faith ; no purpose. They seemed 
shallow and cold, for all their brilliancy. 

" I can't have faith in you until I know something more of you," 
she said, with a directness which had nothing rude in it, so frankly 
and simply was her answer given as a mere statement of fact 
" But even if I had all the faith in the world, what would be the 
good of that? I don't even know what mountain you want to 
move." 

" I have fixed en you," he said slowly, " from the first." 

" From what first, Mr. Montana ? We met for the first time a 
fortnight ago ; I hardly call it even an acquaintance." 

" Do you remember * the Ancient Mariner ? ' He says he knows 
at once the man that must hear him ; ' to him my tale I tell.' Well, 

I know the woman who must hear me ; to her my tale I tell." 

" But, Mr. Montana, you have not told me any tale," Geraldine 
said, and then could have bitten her tongue for saying anything so 
unlucky. It seemed an invitation to him to go on and make her his 
confidante. Montana accepted it as such, evidently. 

" You shall be told," he answered. " I don't ask you to say any 
more now. I shall enlist you in my cause; have no doubt of that I 
want such help as yours, and I have a right to claim it" 

Mr. Aquitaine appeared at the door and beckoned to them. 

" I shan't go, Mr. Aquitaine," Geraldine said. " I should only 
delay you ; I have things to put on, and all that." 

" We have time enough, as far as that goes," Mr. Aquitaine said. 
" Do you think I didn't make allowance for the putting-on of things? 
Have I not experience ? Is there not Melissa ? Go ; run along and 
put your things on ; we shall have time." 

" No, thanks ; I think I have changed my mind. I should rather 
not go." 

" Really rather not ? Really and truly ? " 

" Really and truly." 

" Well, I know ladies hate to be hurried." Mr. Aquitaine per- 
haps on the whole was relieved to find that they had not to wait. 

II Then, Mr. Montana, we'll get along. Ten minutes too early, you 
know, better than half-a-minute too late." 

They went away. Montana shook hands with Geraldine, but 
did not say a word. He seemed to have made up his mind that she 
should be impressed with the difference of his manner to her when 
they were alone, and wheq any other was present. It did impress 



138 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

her — uncomfortably. She felt like one who is being quietly, gradu- 
ally entangled in some conspiracy. Montana had already got so far 
as to draw from her a seeming acknowledgment of her willingness 
to accept his confidence ; and yet it would have been ridiculous, 
even if it were possible, for her at that moifcent to enter any sort of 
protest against such an assumption. She walked slowly to the edge 
of the river again, feeling strangely dissatisfied with herself. The 
stream lost, for the moment, all its charm. 

Geraldine was not the only very early riser among the women of 
the house that morning. Melissa Aquitainc had passed an uneasy 
night, alternating between long stretches of sleeplessness, and dreams 
that were more unrefreshing and disquieting than even lack of sleep. 
She knew that Mr. Montana was leaving the house early, and she got 
out of bed with the dawn, and, wrapping herself in masses of covering, 
sat at her window. It looked upon the lawn. She had not sat there 
long when she saw Montana and Geraldine walking together slowly, 
and side by side, towards the house. They seemed deep in confi- 
dential talk. She saw them stop suddenly, as if there was some con- 
fidence they had yet to exchange before they passed indoors. Then 
they disappeared from her sight She could not see from her window 
that her father wa§ now on the threshold speaking with them. All 
she saw was that Montana and Geraldine were at that immature hour 
walking together side by side in seemingly confidential talk. Then, 
after a moment or two had passed away, she saw Geraldine come 
out alone, and slowly cross the lawn with the manner of one who is 
depressed. It would have suited well enough with the manner 
of a girl whose lover has just parted from her. A pang went through 
Melissa's heart. She hated Geraldine from that moment. She was 
possessed by such a vehemence of anger and bitterness of spirit that 
she allowed some of her wrappings to fall off her shoulders unheeded. 
She did not even mind the cold at such a moment ; she did not care 
even though she was uncomfortable. 



Chapter V. 

GERALDINE. 



Many a sentimental and enamoured youth, whp happened to be 
in converse with Miss Rowan, was struck to the heart with the deep, 
peculiar, dreamy gaze of her soft brown eyes. There were moments 



The Comet of a Season. 139 

when they looked on him, through him, into his very soul ; and yet 
their meaning seemed far away, rapt from earthly things. Her soul, 
he sometimes thought despondently, was with the stars, and not 
with earth and him. He could not doubt that the eyes turned kindly 
towards him, and rested on his eyes with unutterable softness ; and 
still there seemed something distant, withdrawn, suppressed, in MisS 
Rowan's expression. Sometimes the enamoured youth became filled 
with a faint hope that he was making an impression which Miss 
Rowan did not wish wholly to resist, and yet would not acknowledge 
even to. herself. Even from across a table sometimes a man found 
those eyes resting on him quietly, softly, giving no response to his 
own, like the eyes of one who, waking, but hardly conscious, dreamed 
of him. 

The explanation is simple, and not poetic Miss Rowan was 
short-sighted. When she particularly wanted to see some distant 
object clearly, she put up her double eye-glass as unaffectedly as if 
she had been born and bred in Boston, Massachusetts ; but when 
she did not particularly want to study the object, it often happened 
that her eyes seemed to rest where her mind certainly was not ; 
and she did not know that other eyes were looking into hers. 
Thus it happened that some persons gave her credit for a poetic 
dreaminess in which she did not indulge ; and many women 
accused her of being a frank coquette, and making audacious work 
of her eyes. 

The presence of Miss Geraldine Rowan always set people talking 
about her. She was not by any means an astonishingly beautiful 
young woman. But she had a very charming face, with brown hair 
and deep Celtic eyes. She was quick and graceful in all her move- 
ments. She had seen different kinds of life ; had had some suffering 
and some happiness, and had learned the art of extracting such 
enjoyment as might be out of any slight and chance material that 
was flung in her way. Her Irish birth had given her vivacity and 
animal spirits, along with that suffusion of the poetic which seems 
the inheritance of the Celtic race everywhere ; and her American 
life had taught her the ways of a freedom which in the old world is 
not the endowment of an unmarried woman. She was decidedly a 
clever girl ; but if she ever seemed anything of a prodigy, it could 
only be for the simple reason that she could do many different things 
well, even if she did nothing surpassingly well. She could sing; 
she could play the piano and the harp — the almost forgotten harp, 
once the pride of every true heroine, now associated in the minds of 
most Londoners, at all events, with green baize and the outside of a 



140 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

public-house. She could ride, drive, swim, and skate, as well as 
dance. She was not afraid of anything. She was fond of reading, 
and spoke two or three modern languages very well. Each of these 
accomplishments is in itself commonplace enough ; even a com- 
bination of several of them would not go far towards making a 
feminine Crichton. But combine them all, and a few others, in the 
person of a graceful girl with a generous heart and a fresh, vivid 
nature, and it is easy to understand why young women and elderly 
gentlemen, as well as young men, should have agreed to exaggerate 
her gifts and graces into those of a paragon. Her kindly heart and 
sunny temper did a good deal to make people tolerant of her clever- 
ness. She had not the least taint of the coquette in her nature. 
She looked straight into the eyes of every one with whom she spoke, 
and spoke out so frankly and directly whatever she wished to say, 
that it seemed hardly possible to venture on paying her any of the 
stereotyped compliments of society. Nature might have made her 
to be a special blessing to shy young men, or reserved and taciturn 
elders. He of either sort who most dreaded to be thrown upon the 
tender mercies of a girl, felt not the least embarrassment in the com- 
pany of Miss Rowan. Even if he were actually left alone with her, 
he felt no fear about breaking down and finding that he had nothing 
to say. She was sure to find enough to say, and to draw him out on 
some subject which specially interested him. Shy Mr. Trescoe found 
himself, after a while, chatting freely with Geraldine Rowan. He 
even found himself starting a conversation with her, and asking her 
questions quite of his own motion. Once he was heard, in the face 
of a breakfast- room full of company, to invite her to take a turn with 
him in the garden. His wife was intensely amused, and complimented 
Geraldine on the success which she had accomplished in making 
Mr. Trescoe talk to a girl without blushing. 

The company were at luncheon, and were talking of the departed 
guest. 

" I do like him so much— so much," Mrs. Aquitaine said, in her 
languid way and her imperfect English. " He is so beautiful ; the 
most beautiful man I have seen in all England. He is like a picture 
of the night with his great eyes." 

11 Splendid fellow — I know it," Captain Marion said. " I talked a 
great deal with him all the way across, and he let me see most of his 
plans. He inspires me with confidence." 

" I couldn't understand his plans, all the same," Mr. Trescoe 
ventured to interpose. 

" Pesr Frank," his wife observed, " there is nothing very surpris- 



The Cornel of a Season. 141 

tnginthat Who expected you to understand them? You don't 
go in much for understanding things, do you, dear ? " 

"Well, I don't know," Trescoe answered in perfect good-humour; 
" I don't set up to be very clever, Kitty, that's true enough ; but I can 
see just as far into a millstone as my neighbour, I fancy, and I know I 
couldn't make out what Montana was explaining to your papa all 
the way over. In fact, I don't think he was explaining anything ; I 
think he was only dodging, don't you know," he said, addressing 
himself to Mr. Aquitaine ; " trying to seem as if he was explaining 
things, do you see, and not explaining them, all the same. So he 
struck me " 

" Struck you ? * said Katherine, " struck my husband ! But didn't 
you hit him again, Frank? I would if I were you." 

Katherine's mild joke made them laugh ; but it did not succeed, 
as she had perhaps hoped it would, in turning the conversation away 
from Montana. 

" Nonsense — he is full of frankness," Captain Marion said. " I 
thought he seemed only anxious to find people with sympathy to 
listen to him." 

"Then you understand what he is going to do in Europe ? " Mr. 
Aquitaine asked. 

" Yes, certainly ; that is, I understand his general objects. I 
know what he would wish to do, if he could/' 

" Well, what does he wish to do ? " 

" He wants to arouse the sympathies of people here in a great 
scheme for the good of humanity. Of course he didn't fully go 
into the details of his scheme, but he will explain all that in London. 
He does not want it to get about before he has an opportunity of 
explaining it fully himself. He thinks premature and imperfect 
criticism would have a prejudicial effect ; and of course it would. We 
all know that." 

" Then you really don't know anything about his plans ? " 

" About his actual plans, no ; but about his purposes I do. His 
purposes seem to be entirely noble." 

" I think Frank wasn't so far wrong, after all," Mr. Aquitaine 
quietly observed. 

" I am so glad to hear it," Katherine said. " Frank is so far 
wrong generally." 

" Come now, I wasn't so far wrong once, at all events," the 
unruffled Frank observed. 

" When was that, dear ? " his wife asked with affected simplicity. 

" When I asked you to marry me, Kitty." 



142 The Gentleman s Magazine* 

" It was I was out of it there," said Kitty. 

" But about this Montana," Aquitaine returned to the subject— 
" I don't like him somehow. He seems all too theatric He is 
like a play-actor ; he is acting always. His manner, his looks, his 
gestures, everything about him — acting, acting all." 

11 1 don't think he is acting," Geraldine said emphatically, and 
speaking for the first time. 

" Nor I," said Mr. Fanshawe. 

Melissa had not opened her mouth on the subject. It was rare 
for that usually irrepressible little talker not to have a word to say 
on any question, whether she knew anything about it or not But 
she had remained silent, looking up now and then from speaker to 
speaker, and then dropping her eyes at once. She. now glanced 
eagerly at Miss Rowan, and her dark complexion glowed with 
scarcely suppressed anger, as Geraldine seemed to be coming out in 
defence of Mr. Montana. But her eyes flashed gratitude on Tan- 
shawe, although he was apparently following Geraldine's lead. 

" I don't believe he is acting," Miss Rowan went on. " I believe 
the man is self-deceived as well as deceiving. But I believe he is 
deceiving all the same ; I think he is in love with his own ideas, or 
schemes, or whatever they are. I think he is in love with himself." 

" If I were he, I think I should rather have been in love with Miss 
Rowan," Melissa said, looking saucily up with a suggestion of venom 
on her tremulous lips. " He might have had opportunity enough on 
the voyage, one would think, and since perhaps." 

".Mel,, my. little girl, you give your tongue too much licence/' frer 
father said quietly. 

"Little girls ought to be seen and not heard, I suppose/', his 
unabashed daughter replied. "Thank you, papa; I intend td.be 
seen as well as heard, I can assure you, and. to see, too. One can 
see a good deal if one gets up early." 

Geraldine only smiled good-humouredly. 

" He had opportunity enough," she said ; " but I can assure you 
he was not in love with me or any other girl ; he was all absorbed in 
himself. He would hardly have been much in love with me, for I 
could not hide my distrust of him. I think I disliked him instinc- 
tively." 

Melissa smiled scornfully. She did not believe Geraldine. 

11 But those instinctive dislikes/' Miss Marion said— she, too, had 

nit thus far ; " are they reasonable, Miss Rowan? Are they 

> inine, don't you think? Are they not what men say all 

\ given to— likes or dislikes that we can't explain? I 



The Comet of a SeasaH. t$% 

should have thought you would not encourage such feelings. It 
hardly seems quite Christianlike, does it?" 

" It doesn't," Geraldine admitted. " I am afraid I am a very bad 
Christian sometimes. I admit it is downright feminine, womanish, 
foolish, anything you like ; but still I do feel it. And then, may 
there not be some warning sometimes in those undefined antipathies ? 
We don't know quite all of nature's secrets yet, do we ? But I won't 
try to excuse myself by inventing mysterious natural laws ; I'll take 
all the blame of my antipathies. I can't help distrusting Mr. 
Montana : I don't like him." 

"I don't like him," Fanshawe said earnestly. "I agree with 
every word Miss Rowan says." 

Sydney Marion looked up sadly, but not surprised, of course-; 
she knew how it would be. He was already becoming the bond- 
slave of Geraldine Rowan. 

"I don't think he is acting," Fanshawe continued, volubly; *'at 
least, I don't think he is all acting. I dare say he is half fanatic, half 
impostor. I dare say he believes in himself; a fellow may succeed 
in deceiving himself more thoroughly than he deceives any one 
else." 

"You young men are dreadful," Katherine said. "You are" all 
the same, just the same. It is enough to hear two or three women 
say that any man is handsome, and you all hate him from that 
moment Talk of the jealousy of women ! It's nothing to the 
jealousy of men — young men, I mean," she added, suddenly remem- 
bering that Captain Marion' admitted all the merits of Mr. Montana; 

"I don't think women are jealous of each other at all," Sydney 
Marion said, in a tone of gentle and almost regretful conviction. 

" Not a bit," Katherine affirmed ; " why should they be ? As long 
as another woman doesn't come in one's way, I am sure we don't care 
how handsome she is, or how much she is admired." 

" I am not jealous of handsome women," Melissa said, "but I 
hate them alL" She delivered this gentle sentiment with her eyes 
fixed on Miss Rowan. 

" Fie, then, my Melissa," Mrs. Aquitaine gently interposed ; " I 
am sure you do not hate Miss Rowan." 

" I didn't say I hated Miss Rowan," Melissa replied demurely. 

It was not well to try to put this young lady in the right She 
was like a child whom it is -unwise to tempt with any questions, as 
something embarrassing to the general company is likely to be the 
result Melissa sadly embarrassed and annoyed most of the listeners. 
Geraldine did not in the slightest degree mind the saucy little maiden' 



1 44 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

attack, and only rushed to the relief of the general company, and 
especially of Melissa herself, fearing lest Mr. Aquitaine might feel 
himself called upon to administer some public and futile rebuke to 
his unmanageable daughter. 

" Still, a man may be too handsome," she said. " Mr. Montana 
seems to me much too handsome. He is naturally absorbed in 
admiring himself and seeing what an impression he makes. I don't 
believe a man could be a hero who was so handsome as that It is 
not the business of a man to be handsome. Perhaps it is only 
because of that idea that I have felt a sort of distrust of Mr. Montana; 
I don't know any real reason for not liking him, and Miss Marion is 
right. One ought not to speak as if a mere feeling of one's own 
were a reason. I ought not to have said anything against Mr. 
Montana. May I withdraw it all ? Is it too late ? " 

" Much too late," said Fanshawe. " I stand by it all." 

Mr. Montana had not been four-and-twenty hours in Mr. Aqui- 
taine's house, and he had already succeeded in converting all the 
inmates of the building, permanent and temporary, into divided 
camps. An atmosphere of something like discomfort was making 
itself felt. All the women admired Montana except Geraldine 
alone, and Mrs. Trescoe hated her for not admiring him ; while 
Melissa, who would have hated her if she had praised him, hated 
her now for pretending or daring to dispraise him. Sydney Marion 
was sorry for Geraldine's evident yielding to mere prejudice and 
feminine instincts. She too admired Montana ; but her mind was 
distracted from entire absorption in that controversy by her sad 
misgiviDgs on the subject of young Fanshawe's evident admiration 
for Miss Rowan. Geraldine was doubly an offender. All the men 
in the place admired her, and she would not admire the one man 
whom all the women agreed in admiring. Mr. Aquitaine was 
distressed by the ways of his daughter. Not merely did she persist 
in showing an open dislike to Miss Rowan, but she seemed unhappy 
on her own account as well. She crept into corners and remained 
silent there as long as she could, and even when drawn out of her 
retreats she did not enter with any spirit into conversation or amuse- 
ment of any kind that was going on. Katherine was restless and 
fretful; now full of high spirits, and now out of humour and disposed 
to quarrel. Mrs. Aquitaine remained just as usual ; almost abso- 
lutely without interest in anything that was going on. 

Geraldine's high spirits and unfailing temper stood her now in 
good stead. She knew the kindly purpose of Mr. Aquitaine and his 
wife, and did not mind in the least Melissa's little outbursts of 



The Comet of a Season. 145 

anger. That is to say, she did not feel angry with the spoiled child ; 
but, on the contrary, she made up her mind to go roundly to work 
and make a friend of the girl. In any case, she considered herself 
as the guest of her father's dear old friend Captain Marion, and held 
it her first duty to take care that, so far as she was concerned, nothing 
should occur to make him feel uncomfortable. So she set herself to 
work to amuse the company as well as she might, and to charm them 
out of the curious English way which objects to being amused She 
sang and played whenever anybody asked her ; she suggested all 
manner of ways of passing the time ; she talked to Mrs. Aquitaine 
just as long as the languid lady seemed to be amused by the talk, 
and stopped off at the right time. She asked a great many questions 
of Mr. Aquitaine, and gave full satisfaction to his desire for impart- 
ing information. He thought her not so practical a girl as Sydney 
Marion, but very much more interesting. He drove her out early 
in the morning once or twice, before most of the other guests had 
thought of getting up, and found he had a very delightful time of it. 
Geraldine had acquired all the free and fearless ways of the American 
girl, although she was not American either by birth or family, and 
she thought no more of going out in the morning with Mr. Aquitaine 
than she would of going out with Captain Marion, or with her own 
ftther if he were living. But it is to be feared that the other ladies 
did not altogether admire her behaviour in this respect. They 
could not say that she was bold ; even Katherine could not say so 
much as that But they thought she might have remained in bed in 
the mornings until the other ladies found it convenient to get up. 

Geraldine went her way all unconscious of the talk she was 
creating. As for Captain Marion, her manner to him was so 
affectionate that even languid Mrs. Aquitaine sometimes smiled with 
a half-knowing look at Sydney. Captain Marion was acknowledged 
by every one to be a delightful companion. He had narrowly 
missed being a man of talent — a certain want of force of character or 
of concentration had caused him to fall short of a genuine success in 
everything he did and everything he attempted. He had been 
admired in the army, but had had no chance of distinguishing 
himself particularly. He was a clever amateur artist; some of 
his smaller water-colours had been in the Academy. He could play 
the violin, and was a good musician in general. He loved books 
and was a connoisseur in bindings. He was a student of science in 
an easy way, and could do a little etching. He was young in 
appearance and in manner; younger still in heart. His talk was bright 
and even joyous, with just enough of sympathetic tenderness to give 

vol. ccl. no. 180*. 1 



146 The Gentleman } $ Magazine. 

the idea of a certain depth of character which, perhaps, when one 
came to explore, was not found to exist. He was still a man with 
whom it was at least possible to imagine a young woman falling in 
love— even so charming a young woman as Geraldine Rowan. 
" Eh, Sydney, my dear, I think you will have a young mamma-in- 
law — I mean a step-mamma, one of these days/ 1 Mrs Aquitaine said 
to Miss Marion. 



Chapter VI. 

THE XANADU OF THE FUTURE. 

There was a great assembly in a large London hall about a 
month after the landing of Captain Marion and his companions in 
the northern seaport The hall was crowded; all the more so, 
because the manner of getting the company together had been 
peculiar. There was no buying of tickets, or payment of mpney at 
the doors. The company assembled by invitation. Each person 
had a card printed specially, and bearing his or her own name ; not 
a name written in and filling up a space left blank for the purpose, 
but a separate name engraved on each card — one card specially printed 
for each person. Each card also contained the announcement that no 
other invitations whatever would be issued, nor would any notice be 
taken of any request, public or private, for additional admissions. 
The invited company included representatives of every rank, profes- 
sion, and occupation. The peerage, the House of Commons, the 
world of fashion, the Church in aU its denominations, the bench, the 
bar, the army, science, literature, art— all were addressed through 
some eminent name. The manner of distribution was perplexingly 
odd. Sometimes a wife was invited, and not her husband. Some- 
times, out of a stately and noble household, only a girl of twenty was 
asked to favour the meeting with her presence ; it could only be 
assumed that she had, at one time or another, expressed some faith 
or hope not common to her family, and which showed her to be in 
communion with the higher aspirations of humanity. Representative 
working men of all trades and shades of opinion found themselves 
bidden to this remarkable gathering ; and, when they got there, were 
amazed to see themselves planted next to some great statesman or 
brilliant leader of fashion. The leaders of fashion were caught 
readily enough by the peculiarities of the whole affair. The London 
season so far had been rather dull and lustreless. No Oriental sove- 
reign of any colour was in town just then. No sensation of any kind 



The Comet of a Season. 147 

had stirred the languid atmosphere until Montana made his appear- 
ance. His happy inspiration as to the form of invitation was a 
complete success. At first people wondered ; then laughed ; then 
thought they did not care to go ; then found that others were going, 
and that others again were dying to gp and could not get invitations ; 
and thereupon, of course, all those who had invitations became 
determined to use the privilege. No cause, however great or good, 
could have had, to start with, anything like the impulse which was 
given to Montana's mission by his specially devised plan of invita- 
tion. He had managed the whole affair so cleverly ; had contrived 
so ingeniously to transfix with his invitations some of the leading 
persons. in every class, profession, and movement, that not to have 
received one of his cards was a proof that the unfavoured creature 
was nobody, even in his own particular sphere. It is much to be 
feared that some white lies came from pretty lips concerning those 
invitations, and that ladies described themselves as having been 
invited, but resolved not to go, to whose door no messenger had 
brought Montana's card. 

The name of Montana was not the least of the peculiarities which 
contributed to his sudden success. He had got at the name in a 
very simple way. He had made the beginning of his career in the 
territory of Montana, in the United States ; and, wanting a name, he 
had adopted for himself the name of the region in which he 
made a beginning. But had he had a special inspiration on the 
subject, he could not have done a better thing for his London suc- 
cess than to call himself Montana. It struck the attention at once. 
It did the part of a flourish of trumpets. When " Mr. Montana " 
was announced, the company must look up in some expectancy and 
curiosity. Not one in every thousand of ordinary London people 
knew that there was a place in the United States called^Montana. 
Most persons, therefore, assumed that there was something Italian, or 
Spanish, or romantic somehow, in such a name. Even if the bearer of 
the name had proved to be a short, stout, and commonplace man, with 
reddish whiskers and redder cheeks, it would still have counted for 
something that he had such a remarkable name. But when the pro- 
clamation of Mr. Montana's name in a London crowd was followed by 
the apparition of Mr. Montana himself, the effect was something almost 
startling. Montana was singularly handsome. He wore no beard or 
moustache ; and yet— rare thing with shaven men of dark complexion 
-This chin and upper*lip showed none whatever of that blue-black, 
gunpowder-stained, tattooed appearance which suggests that die razor 
is always wanting. He looked over the heads of ordinary men, and of 

13 



148 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

all women. His pale, melancholy face, and his deeply brilliant eyes, 
seemed to look only into vacancy. He was habitually silent ' He 
hardly ever spoke until he was spoken to; he would stand in a 
crowded drawing-room or sit at a dinner-table for any length of time 
without uttering a word, and yet he had not in the slightest degree 
the manner of a shy or even a reserved man. He seemed wrapped 
up in the quietness of an absolute self-reliance and independence. 
But when spoken to, even on the most commonplace subject, he 
had a way of suddenly turning the light of his oppressively bright 
eyes on the person who addressed him in a way that seemed to ask, 
" Why talk commonplace to me ? You and I are made for better 
discourse." His mere way of saying the four little words, " Do you 
think so?" made many a susceptible woman think the time had 
come for her to review her course of life, and test its real worth. 
" Do you think so," the words seemed to imply; u you, who, although 
I never saw you before, I know to be capable of loftier thoughts, of 
utterances that roll from soul to soul ?" An audacious stripling from 
the House of Commons, strong on facts and figures, once at dinner 
boldly encountered, or, as he put it, " tackled," Montana on some 
opinion the latter had been expressing with regard to the future place 
of the United States among the nations. The youth of promise 
positively affirmed afterwards, and will maintain to his dying day, 
that Montana knew absolutely nothing about the subject on which 
he was laying down the law ; that his dates, his statistics, his views as 
to all manner of facts only showed the most utter ignorance. He was, 
as he firmly believes, literally overwhelming Montana with confutation ; 
he hoped to expose Montana then and there ; he still insists that 
Montana had not one word to say in reply. Certain it is that 
Montana did not say one word in reply. But in the midst of the 
young law-maker's argument his face was lighted by a smile so sweet, 
so kindly, so pitying, so apparently irrepressible, that the whole com* 
pany became ashamed of their friend, and felt that he must be making 
himself outrageously ridiculous. Montana's smile appeared to be 
playing on his lips in spite of himself. It said in the most expressive 
manner: " I will not laugh ; I will not I must try to seem respect- 
ful. He is such an earnest little blockhead ; but, good heavens ! 
what a blockhead he is." The host said something meant to be 
soothing to his poor young friend, and broke up the conversation. 
They joined the ladies. Not a word more was said publicly on the 
subject ; but men whispered to each other that really young Syming- 
ton had too much chatter, and was becoming insufferable, and they 
were very glad that Montana had put him down. Some of the listener^ 



The Comet of a Season. 1 49 

always remained convinced that Montana had somehow or other 
crushed him with argument, and that Symington had shown himself 
shockingly ignorant Mr. Symington fumed and chafed in vain. 
The pitying smile had settled him in all men's eyes. 

Montana spoke to him kindly afterwards when he was leaving the 
drawing-room. " I will tell you all about that," he said, " some other 
time. It is a complicated subject, but you can be made to under- 
stand it. I like your earnestness ; it is a good sign. The man who 
wants to learn will learn, be the difficulties what they may." 

Symington's brain seemed to reel. He positively lost his coolness 
and his power of speech. He was literally shut up. 

Our friends, or most of them, attended the great meeting. Captain 
Marion had settled in London for the time, in order to show Miss 
Rowan everything, and to give his daughter Sydney a long-postponed 
holiday. Mr. Aquitaine had brought Melissa up in order that she, 
too, might have her share of the holiday. He did not propose to make 
any stay himself; he would rush up and down after his usual fashion, 
leaving Melissa meanwhile in care of his friends. The whole party 
were in seats not far from the platform on which the orator was to 
take his stand. Melissa was biting her lips to keep down her im- 
patience. She was longing for Montana to make his appearance. 
He had never spoken more than a few of the most formal words to 
her; had probably not bestowed a single thought on her, and she 
could think of nothing but him. Since the first moment when she 
saw him he had taken a strange possession of her soul, and the poor 
little girl could not relieve her mind by breathing one word of con- 
fidence to any human creature. Miss Rowan's fine face, graceful 
figure, and animated movements attracted much attention. People 
set her down as foreign until she put up her double eye-glass, and 
then they pronounced her American. " If I had such eyes," one 
lady remarked, " I would rather never see anything than hide them 
under those horrid glasses." Captain Marion attracted some atten- 
tion, partly because of his bright smile and his good figure, but 
partly, too, because he would persist in displaying himself in a velvet 
coat, which he loved to wear when lounging and working at home. 

Montana came on the platform, and every one else was forgotten. 
The severe outlines of his evening dress made him look even taller 
and more slender than he really was. He hardly acknowledged the 
murmur of applause, but at once began to speak. He spoke in a 
low, sweet, measured tone. His accent was somewhat peculiar. It 
could not be called foreign, but it was not of London. Most people 
in the hall assumed that it must be American. Miss Marion whispered 



1 50 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

as much to Miss Rowan, but Miss Rowan shook her head and said it 
was not American. 

" Irish, perhaps," Miss Marion suggested. 

Miss Rowan smiled, and said there was nothing of the Irishman 
about Mr. Montana, she was glad to think. 

" How unjust she is ! " Miss Marion sadly thought. " She hates 
him. Strange that so noble-minded a girl should be so prejudiced." 

" Our friend is a north-country man," Mr. Aquitaine said quietly 
to Captain Marion; "Lancashire or Yorkshire clearly; I didn't 
notice it in talking with him ; but it comes out now." 

Montana spoke with deep feeling apparently, and with a kind of elo- 
quence. He sometimes warmed into a glowing thought; sometimes 
even condescended to some quaint piece of humorous illustration. 
He held his audience from first to last The whole discourse 
was entirely out of the common. It had nothing to do with the 
ordinary gabble of the platform. It had no conventional eloquence 
about it. There was no studied antithesis ; the listener could not 
anticipate in the middle of a sentence the stock form of rhetoric with 
which it was to close. The wonderful eyes seemed to be everywhere. 
If by chance any of the audience became for a moment inattentive, 
he or she suddenly seemed to feel an uncomfortable sensation, and 
looking up found that Montana's eyes were fixed on the disloyal 
listener. A curious thing was that almost every one in the room 
seemed to feel the direct appeal of Montana's eyes. 

The speech was an explanation of Mr. Montana's mission. Of 
course he had more than one mission. His life was understood to 
be devoted to missions of one kind or another. But the special 
object of his visit to Europe just now was to found a great colony in 
the United States, where men and women might seek and find the 
perfect life. The colony was to be made up of as many different 
nationalities as Mr. Montana could contrive to inspire with his own 
reforming energy and faith. From the marriages contracted within 
the limits of the new colony were to spring the future governing race, 
by whom the good life of earth's children was to be made perfect. 
The Englishman was to bring his solid energy and his all-conquering 
patience ; Ireland was to give her poetic fancy and the purity of her 
nature ; the Italian would contribute his artistic genius ; the Scot his 
indomitable strength of will ; the German his vast capacity for the 
acquirement of knowledge ; the Frenchman his lively genius and 
brisk spirit of recuperation. America, of course, opening her bosom 
to these seekers after perfection, would contribute her ample share to 
the work of colonisation. The colony would be self-governing ; it 



The Comet of & Season. . 15 1 

would be founded on principles opposed to the base and worldly 
selfishness that had made property exclusive. It was to have its 
foundation deep down among the heroic virtues. Other communities 
had lived by appealing to man's least noble qualities ; now, at last, a 
practical appeal should be made to the better angel that dwelt within 
him. The war spirit could not thrive among a community which 
enclosed in loving bonds the representatives of so many races 
hitherto hostile. Temperance, self-abnegation, and the family 
virtues were to be the inspiration of this new enterprise. Other pro- 
jects of the same kind had tried to supplant the family virtues by 
socialistic innovations and extravagances, and had perished of their 
own pride and their own sins. The New Atlantis was to be a com- 
munity on which all good men and women must smile benignant 
approval. Around that purified and almost sacred commonwealth 
would grow up in time a great race of heroic, self-denying, happy men 
and women, governing their lives on the laws of morals, and on the 
laws of physical health, those embodied illustrations of the moral .law. 
Thus, with the ages, the hopes and energies of the race would centre 
in the New World, which had this still newer world, an empire within 
an empire, enclosed within its vast domain. There would be room 
enough through many ages for America to take in the pilgrims and 
refugees of all parts of the ancient earth ; and Montana saw, with 
poetic or prophetic eye, a time in the dim future when Europe and 
Asia should be only the great holiday grounds, the vast museums 
and art-galleries, covered and uncovered, amid which the colonists of 
the new settlements might seek temporary recreation, might study 
the half-forgotten arts of an aged time, and coming here and there 
on the ruins of a prison, the wreck of a fortress, might " wonder what 
old world such things could see." 

All that was wanted for the beginning was land, money, and colo- 
nists. Mr. Montana announced that the land could be got easily 
enough ; got for the asking from the generous American Government. 
Money was largely needed. Mr. Montana explained that this new colony 
was to be no ramshackle concern of log huts arid shanties, and uncouth 
makeshift ways. The New Atlantis was to begin as it proposed to go 
on, in dignity and stateliness. It was an enterprise, Montana empha- 
tically declared, of a thousand-fold more importance to the world and 
to history than the founding of Rome ; and it should begin in form 
not unworthy its glorious destiny. The city was to have gates of 
bronze, columns of granite, marble halls of science and art, cathe- 
drals rivalling in majestic beauty and devotional suggestiveness the 
most venerable piles of the ancient world. Every architecture was to be 



152 The Gmtlemafis MagtuSne. 

represented there, and who could doubt that, as time rolled on, the com- 
monwealth would develop an architecture of its own, the compound 
of the world's ideas informed by the new spirit, and destined to be 
the last word of the architecture of the human race? The sanitary 
laws were to govern all the conditions of the city. The streets w^re 
to be broad indeed, but not straight and monotonous. On the con- 
trary, the greatest diversity of size and structure was to relievf the 
eyes and delight the senses everywhere. Two rivers watered the 
base of the gentle hill on which this city of the future was to stand* 
The bridges over those streams alone would be like the embodied 
dream of a poet. To look to heaven from such a bridge and to Kf the 
stars reflected in the water below, or the sunbeams glancfog {ra its 
ripples, would lift up the soul of the gazer almost as much a* pp bend 
in the cathedral and hear the organ peal forth its anthem of niety and 
praise. In the purified atmosphere ignoble thoughts coultf no more 
live than man's gross lungs can breathe the upper ether. 

Most of the eyes that met Montana's, as he expounded his plans, 
were turned up with interest, admiration, and a certain amount of 
awe. But it must be owned that a good many pairs of sceptical or 
scornful eyes looked up from above moustaches and beards, and 
glanced through scholarly or professional spectacles. The men, on the 
whole, were not so much taken as the ladies. Most of the younger 
men admitted that he was "awfully clever," but some thought him a 
decided humbug ; some opined that he really didn't know himself 
what he was talking about. Some denied that he was at all hand- 
some or even good-looking; and by the very energy of their protests 
bore testimony to the effect his personal appearance must have pro- 
duced. Most of the elders held the scheme to be wholly imprac- 
ticable, and whispered that the moment you came to look into the 
thing and get the facts and figures of it, everybody would see it could 
not come to anything. These were the worldlings, however, the 
mere practical narrow-minded men of economics and statistics ; and 
Montana had in his speech already taken order with them by ex- 
pressly announcing, in tone of melancholy contempt, that wherever 
he went the narrow-minded and practical, the wise in their own con- 
ceit, were sure to be against him. He carried with him three classes of 
persons almost entirely : the earnest men and women who had views 
of life; the merely emotional, with whom a striking face and a 
strange manner are impressive ; and the idle, at least among women, 
who were glad to be stirred by a new sensation on any terms. Many a 
woman's heart beat with strange pulsation as she gazed into that 
dark bloodless face, and fancied those eyes were turned on her. 



The Comet of a Season. 153 

11 And now/' said Montana, drawing a deep breath and flooding 
the audience with the light of his eyes, " we want money for this great 
work. I have come to Europe for help ; and I will go from one 
end of Europe to the other in quest of it. Let any one who hears me 
and wishes to give, give as may seem proportioned to his means. 
Let the wealthy give of their wealth, but in Heaven's name let me 
have the working-man's penny and the sempstress's halfpenny. One 
thing you are to know : I will have no unwilling gifts. Before I have 
done with Europe I shall be loaded, with money — let no one pre- 
sume to encumber me with his gift who doubts my enterprise. I 
will give no acknowledgment or receipt of any kind ; I will take no 
gift which has a name appended to it If any lady or gentleman 
thinks of sending a contribution in his own name or her own name, it 
is useless. I will send all such offerings instantly back. There is 
nothing to be gained personally by contributing to my enterprise ; no, 
not even a line of acknowledgment in a newspaper ; not the poor 
credit of being anywhere mentioned or known as a donor. At each 
of the principal entrances of this hall there is an urn covered by a cloth. 
Let each who pleases raise the cloth in passing, and deposit any offering 
he feels called upon to make. Then let him cover the gift so that none 
can see it, and go his way. I entreat of him, if he does not give with 
his whole heart and soul, to keep his money ; not to stain our noble 
enterprise with the soil of his unwilling gift. Whether the money is 
found here or elsewhere is all the same to me and to the cause. It 
will come ; I only ask that it may come with a will." 

The effect of this appeal was instantaneous. Almost everybody 
gave. Some white-haired old gentlemen took out their purses, 
carefully ascertained that they kept back enough to pay for a cab 
home, and threw the remainder of the contents into the urn. Some 
ladies, not a few, simply dropped their purses in, and hurried on. 
As Melissa Aquitaine came to one of the urns, she drew purposely 
behind her party. She had not a purse — hardly ever carried such 
an article about her. She glanced confusedly and timidly around to 
see if any one was looking, and then stripped off her bracelets, her 
rings, her brooch, her watch and chain, and dropped them in 
a glittering clinking heap into the urn. Her action was not unseen. 
A lady coming up had noticed it ; she, too, threw her bracelets, 
bangles, and chains into the urn. Some men stole their contribution 
into the place of deposit as if they were ashamed of showing any 
faith in the business, and yet could not help giving to it. 

Miss Marion and Miss Rowan came on together. Sydney took 
out her little purse, and found she had only a very few shillings. 



154 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

" Will you lend me some ? " she said timidly to Miss Rowan, 
who had seen her action, and was looking at her with a sort of 
amused pity. 

" No, indeed I won't," Miss Rowan said decidedly, " not for that 
thing. Ill not help you to set such folly going. But listen," she 
said, suddenly changing her tone, " did not Mr. Montana say that 
the gifts of the unbelieving would only bring discredit on the cause— 
a curse and not a blessing ; didn't he ? " 

" He did, I think," Miss Marion answered faintly. 

" Very well ; then in that hope I make myself one of his contri- 
butors ; and I give with a good will." 

She tossed her purse contemptuously into the urn. 

They came against Mrs. Fanshawe. 

" We are going in to see him," Katherine said with sparkling 
eyes ; " I sent Frank to tell him, and Frank says he will see us — in 
the reception-room, you know. He is seeing some people there ; 
women mostly ; howling swells, I suppose ; duchesses and ^11 that ; 
but he'll see us. Isn't that sweet of him? Isn't he delightful? 
Doesn't he make one feel so good, and pure, and noble, and all 
that sort of thing? Doesn't he? The world all seems so poor and 
unreal. I have given something; haven't you? and I am going 
to send him some more. Won't you send him some more ? But 
not in our own names ; he wouldn't have that. Oh ! it's all glorious, 
I think." 

Young Mr. Fanshawe came up. 

"I think it's all a confounded imposture," he said, without waiting 
for any one to solicit his opinion. u He's a clever fellow enough, 
but he's a humbug. Don't you think so, Miss Rowan ? " 

Already, poor Sydney Marion thought, he has learned to appeal 
only to her. 

''I don't believe in him," Geraldirie saitf with her accustomed 
energy; "I don't believe anything good will come of him or his 
enterprise; there is something unholy about him. I feel as if we had 
been assisting at a witch's sabbath." 

The reception-room was crowded where Montana waff receiving 
his friends. He spoke a hasty word or two to each person, who 
came up to him in turn, and quietly passed them on. Tliere were 
no formal presentations. Every one whom Montana did not know, 
either introduced himself or was taken for granted. 
. " What may I do to help your cause?" an earnest lady said;. with 
the glitter of a tear in her eyes. 

" Believe," said Montana, gently pressing her hand.- l - 



The Comet of a Season. 15$ 

She went on satisfied. There did not seem, perhaps, any very 
direct practical instruction in his one word of advice, but it appeared 
to content her craving soul. 

" I want to be in the thing," said a working man. " I want to 
help you all I can. What have I to do ?" 

" Work," said Montana, looking fixedly down into his eyes. The 
man was of good stature, but Montana was able to look down upon 
him ; and they shook hands, and Montana wrung his friend's rough 
hand with a gripe which thrilled him. 

The man, too, went on his way satisfied. There was not much 
perhaps in being told to work. He had to work anyhow, and the 
one word gave him little guidance as to the best way of assisting 
Montana's special enterprise. But even one word, accompanied by 
such a look from such a face, and by the grasp of a hand which the 
working man found, to his surprise, considerably stronger than his 
own, was guidance and conviction for the time. The worker passed 
on, feeling a sort of vague awe, as if he had discoursed with a 
prophet. 

An elderly, white-haired, smooth-spoken, graceful gentleman, with 
a double eye-glass, came softly up to Montana, announced himself 
as the Duke of Magdiel,and said the duchess particularly wished him 
to request that Mr. Montana would do her the favour of dining with 
them during his stay in town. m 

Montana drew back coldly. 

" I have not the honour to know you," he said. " I have not 
come to London to be made a show of. I dine with my friends 
when I have time. You are not among the friends. I have some- 
thing else to do in life besides going out to amuse strangers and to 
be stared at." 

The abashed peer mumbled an excuse, of which Montana took 
little heed. The Duke of Magdiel passed along, disconcerted. 
Incivility puzzled him ; he could not see the use of it. 

A member of a small, strange, fantastic sect talked for a moment 
with Montana — a shabby, eager-looking man, whose wild eyes were 
looking through unkempt hair. 

" We are a strange lot," he said to Montana. " We are not much 
in favour here. Every one dislikes us. They would persecute us 
if they could." 

" I do not care about that," said Montana. " People dislike me, 
and would persecute me if they could. What do you want of me ?" 

" We'd like to have a word or two quietly with you. Some of 
our people would like to join with you, and go out to your new 



156 The Gentleman *s Magazine. 

place. We are miserably off here. We have no money, and we 
have no friends — only enemies. Will you let some of us come and 
see you ? " 

" Have you a place of meeting? 1 ' Montana asked. 

" We have a sort of a place up some flights of back stairs, down 
there." 

He jerked his thumb in the supposed direction, and the wild eyes 
turned towards the east. Somewhere in the East End, doubtless, 
was the temple of this odd little group of sectaries. 

" I will wait on you," said Montana. " Send me a message at 
once. You have only to name the time that suits you, and I will go 
there." 

This was spoken in a low tone, apparently not meant to be 
heard ; but it so happened that it was heard by most of those in the 
toom. Thus it became known amongst those who were interested 
in the night's proceedings, that Mr. Montana had repelled with cold 
contempt the invitation of a duchess, and had promised to go at any 
time out of his way down to the East End, to wait upon a miserable 
little group of half-crazy and poverty-stricken fanatics. The effect 
was happy. It added to the interest felt in Mr. Montana. Even 
duchesses were now more anxious than ever to have him under 
their roofs, and fanatics and sectaries of all kinds were disposed to 
put full faith in him. The night had been a complete and a splendid 
success. 

A great crowd at the doors of the outer hall waited to catch a 
glimpse of the new prophet as he passed to the carriage which was 
known to be waiting for him. But Montana did not go out that 
way. He passed through a side corridor and a small door in another 
street, and walked home unseen and alone. 

The carriage was there, however, for some time. At last the 
patient watchers, who still kept hoping for a sight of the prophet, 
saw that two or three pale and poor-looking girls, apparently of the 
sempstress class, were put into it by one of the liveried attendants, 
and heard the coachman get directions to drive them to some place 
in the Bethnal Green quarter. The patient watchers had something 
for their delay. They, too, had a story to tell of Mr. Montana. 
They were able to say to all they met next day, that they had 
seen Mr. Montana's carriage given up by him for the purpose 
of driving a few belated milliner girls amongst his audience to their 
home in Bethnal Green. 

{To be continued.) 



*57 



ON GARDEN SCHOOLS AND THE 
FRCEBEL OR KINDERGARTEN 
SYSTEM OF EDUCATION} 

TIJE in England are as yet very little acquainted with the life 
VV and work of the educational reformer, Friedrich Frcebel. 
His life was one of singular labour, of thought and of action ; but the 
chief part of it was educational, and by that alone he lives. He was 
at one time a mineralogist, or at all events had a strong tendency for 
the study of the science, and after that, as Miss Shirreff tells us, he 
became a soldier. In the summer of 1812, according to her very 
clear narrative, he left the University of Gottingen and went to 
Berlin, and there found employment in a school of the same kind as 
the learned Institute at Frankfort which had been founded by a 
pupil of Pestalozzi of the name of Plamann. At this time, as he, 
Frcebel, was commencing his labours as a teacher, the French power 
wielded by Napoleon was checked by its reverses'in Russia. This, 
says our authoress, struck the hour of deliverance for Germany, and 
Prussia, so heavily oppressed and so steadily pursuing the means of 
revenge, called on every man to take up arms against the oppressor. 
The King's proclamation, the personal call " To my people," was 
responded to with enthusiasm, and Frcebel, stirred by the call, joined 
with alacrity. " I had," he said, " a home, a land of my birth, but no 
fatherland. My own home made no call upon me. I was no Prussian, 
and so it happened that in my retired life the call to arms stirred me 
little. But something else there was which stirred me, if not with 
enthusiasm, yet with most steadfast determination, to take my place 
amongst the German soldiers, and this was the pure feeling, the 
consciousness of being a German, which I honoured as something 
noble and sacred in my own mind, and desired that it might be 
unfettered and able to make itself everywhere felt Besides this 
teeling, I was also moved by the earnestness with which I embraced 
my mission as an educator." 

1 Address delivered from the chair at the annual meeting of the Froebel 
Society in the large Hall of the Society of Arts, on Friday, December 10, 1880. 



1 58 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

Froebel entered the army, joined, with other students, the 
renowned corps of Lutzow's "Black Riflemen," and served with 
them to the end of the war. 

Leaving the military life, Froebel returned for a short season to 
mineralogical pursuits ; but soon the death of his brother caused him 
to retire from Berlin, where he was located, to the village of Kielhau, 
where he undertook the education of his brother's children, and of 
other children who joined his school. It was in this way that 
Froebel commenced the great work of his life, the work that has left 
his name amongst the names that justly remain historical. 

The educational scheme which Froebel here developed must not 
be considered as unpremeditated by him. He had thought it well 
out before he began his practical work, and had probably all the 
details in his mind. Miss Shirreff takes note of two distinguishing 
features in Frcebcl's system which, so to say, lie at the bottom of it, 
and which are evidently of the premeditated order. These two 
principles, she tells us, are the recognition of practical activity as an 
integral part of education, and the parallel of the mental growth of 
the human being with the development of all other organisms in 
nature. With regard to the first, Festalozzi had attached much 
value to manual exercise and handicraft of various kinds, but rather 
as parts of physical training and technical preparation for life, 
especially among the lower classes. With Froebel all outward 
training had an inward correlative — some mental faculty was always 
to be consciously brought into play, to be strengthened and directed 
aright, while the limbs were gaining vigour or dexterity. He did not 
value manual work for the sake merely of making a better workman* 
but for the sake of making a more complete human being. His 
teaching rested, says Hanschman, on the fundamental principle that 
the starting-point of all we know or are conscious of is action ; and 
therefore education, or human development, must begin in action. 
Through what a man works out his inward being is developed. " Life, 
action, and knowledge were to Froebel the true notes of one har- 
monious chord. Book-study is ever in his system postponed to the 
strengthening and discipline of the mental and physical powers, 
through observation and active work. The young creature must be 
at home in his surroundings, learn to live, seek to understand outer 
and visible things, and to exercise its own creative faculty, before it 
is introduced to the inner world of thought, to symbols and abstrac- 
tions, and made to gather up the fruit of other men's labour and 
experience. The second point, the unfolding of the human powers 
according to inner or organic laws, was at the core of the whole 



Garden Schools and the Kindergarten System. 159 

theory of education laid down by FrcebeL He had watched develop- 
ment and gradual formation by the action of inward laws through all 
the realms of nature — plants, animals, and, lastly, through crystalline 
forms, which seized powerfully on his imagination. And that the human 
creature was destined by the law of its being to develop in like 
manner, possessed his mind as a revelation of a divine truth. I must 
refer you to Miss ShirrefFs excellent treatise for the further elucida- 
tion of the life and thought of her hero Froebel." What I have told 
thus briefly will enable those who have not before known very much 
of the man and of his line of observation and work to know him a 
little better and to wish to know of him still more. 

From that which I have myself been able to gather of this man 
over and above what has been stated above, it seems to me that he 
discovered and applied three principles in education, or, more cor- 
rectly speaking, in mode of education, and that the value of his 
system rests on these principles as a natural basis of support. 

I. 

The first of these principles had relation to the early training of 
the child. By it.the direction of education, taken so soon as there 
is distinct intelligence and power to reason, is turned by the most 
natural of all movements into learning directly from sight. The 
child is taught to look — and, what is more, to look correctly — at all 
things that are brought before it It is made to judge of things pre- 
cisely as they are. Is it colour that is before it ?— it is justly taught to 
recognise colour, and so to ascertain without difficulty that there are 
several and yet a limited number of colours* Is it line and form 
that are brought before it? — it is persuaded to trace out the modifica- 
tions of form that can be produced by straight lines, and, a little later 
on, by curves as well as straight lines. Is it of numbers that it has to 
take account?— it is gradually taught to recognise that in every thing, 
in every act and in every thought, there is number. Thus it is encour- 
aged to count, to learn how to count and hold numbers in memory, 
to see the relationships of numbers, and how they may be added 
up, divided, subtracted one from another, and multiplied one by the 
Other, before ever a systematic hard rule of arithmetic is ever heard 
of by the learner. In this way the child, individually, picks up his 
knowledge in the same way as man, generally, has through long ages 
picked up his knowledge. As to the formularisation of the knowledge, 
that is left as a thing that is as certain to come as the formularisation 
-of «ules fcy man when he has become sufficiently ripened in informa- 
tion to be able out of details to construct a science. 



160 The Gentleman 9 s Magazine. 

I stop to ask every reasonable person who will think the matter 
over, whether he does not feel sure that this is the only true and 
natural way of filling the little mind with basic knowledge? Is it 
not more reasonable to teach that such and such things and facts are 
as they are, than to prove the same by a series of arbitrary rules 
which are more difficult to learn than the things and facts them- 
selves? It is all very well, when a number of facts or data have been 
collected, for a body of learned men to sit down and amuse them- 
selves or belabour themselves with the task of formularising the infor- 
mation, and casting a set of rules and forms for deciphering the 
information in a particularly learned manner. It is pleasant for 
such learned men to dispute amongst themselves, and to get up rival 
schools for their respective systems. Let us not quarrel with any such 
mental exercise ; it produces necessity for work, and, it may be, keeps 
many idle hands from mischief. But, is it wise to oppress the mind 
of the child at the onset of its career with this learned aggregation of 
dusty spoil ? I cannot see it, for my part ; and I think that if Froebel 
had done nothing else for the little minds of his race than free them 
from the mental slavery involved in the ordinary hard scholastic train- 
ing, he would have achieved what Miss Shirreff calls a divine work, 
in that work alone. Froebel, under the head of his labour on which I 
am now speaking, did, however, much more, very much more. He 
trained the mind by the simple processes I have told, and while doing 
that he trained also the body. Here again he did not seek a violent 
and unnatural culture. By his plan the body is employed to work 
not for itself alone, so as to produce Hercules without wit, but for the 
mind also. Both have duties. The mind has a duty — to wait on and 
attend to the body. The body has a duty — to wait on and attend to 
the mind. Unequal development of either is, on his principle, bad 
for both. For, what is an over-cultured mind, if the body be not 
strong enough to support it ? What is your best brain, with bad lungs 
or bad heart underneath it to keep it going ? And what is the value 
of a giant's limbs if they be exercised without discretion, and if the 
force in them be thrown away on some fool's game or competitive 
imbecility? Froebel, in short, cultivated the harmonies of life. 
motion, and thought, until he brought them all under one dominion, 
so that of those who were properly trained under his system it might 
be said, Mens cujusquc is est quisquc—" The mind of the man is the 
man himself." 

The carrying out of this principle of education is naturally 
bounded by age. It extends in action from the age of three to 
that of seven years. In its progress it is all through gradationaU 



Garden Schools and the Kindergarten System. 161 

It sometimes happens that in the course of it the cart seems to go 
before the horse, because the child may actually be able to write 
before it is able to read ; that is to say, it has naturally learned to 
form mechanical signs or letters before it has become competent to 
read them when they are put into sentences. This, however, is no 
paradox. It is rather the representation of the truly natural mode of 
learning. It is what nearly every person left to his or her own mode 
of development would do. To construct a letter is an imitative 
proceeding of the simplest kind, caught by the eye. To read is 
imitative too > but the art of it rests on form which, being recognised, 
is then caught by the ear. 

Connected with this principle of the Frcebel system there is 
another detail which increases, to my mind, its value in a marked 
degree. As in the period of age in which the system of education 
commences there is uniformity of learning in the midst of simplicity, 
so is the system made to adapt itself with the utmost readiness to 
both sexes alike. Girls and boys follow the process, and learn by it 
equally well. It is common to them both. For this reason, it is in 
order to bring boys and girls together in the same classes and to train 
them side by side. The good effect cannot well be over-estimated. 
The controlling influence of both sexes is felt at a time, when the 
mind is most susceptible of impression, and the hamaony of mind 
and body is more certainly developed The gentleness and tender- 
ness of the girl impress themselves on the boy; the courage and 
decision of the boy influence, favourably, the girl. The boy loses 
the roughness that always comes from putting a number of boys 
together ; the girl loses the timidity and overstrained fear which 
almost always comes from putting numbers of girls together and 
allowing them to cultivate none but their own girlish fancies and 
exercises. 

FrcebePs system has been defined as one of simultaneous growth 
with harmonious development The description very correctly de- 
scribes the character of the system and its intentions, but it is not, 
to me at all events, a definition easily remembered It does not fix 
itself in the mind so as to be ready at a moment's notice, and when 
it is recalled it is not pronounced so as to convey an immediate and 
explanatory notion to the listener. I had to ask for it twice before 
I seized upon its meaning. It would be shorter to speak of the 
system as one of educational equality of mind and body, or, better 
still, as a system of common hfalth-cducationt because under it the 
body and mind in common are involved in common healthiness of 
development and of power. 

VOL. CCU NO. l802. M 



1 62 The Gentleman v s Magazine. 

For this, after all, seems to be the essential peculiarity ' arid 
advantage of the Froebel plan : that it works for health* and" that 
when it is properly carried out it places the child of from three 
to seven years of age under the most favourable conditions to 
become a strong and healthy life. It lays the corner-stone of health. 
The period of life that is included in its teachings is perhaps, otaU 
others, the most critical. At three years the child, to a considerable 
extent, has left the maternal lap. The nursing, brooding, Wanning, 
gentle care of the mother has passed away; the mother, perchance, 
has another younger care on her hands, and, if she have not, the child 
of three is of itself feeling its way into independence) and wants some- 
thing more than to be dressed and fondted and nursed ft asks to 
go alone, and to be to some extent relieved from the apron ^string. 
It wishes to mix with others of its own age and activity, and in these 
schools the invitation healthily to commingle with other children of 
its own age is most favourably backed by the discipline of active 
play which there awaits it I could not urge the benefit of the system 
we have met to support on stronger grounds than these. : The cfifld 
life from three to seven is, at the best, critical. It may be that the child 
in the first three years of existence is more imperilled from teething 
and other affections of infancy than it is later oh, but in the four years 
from three to seven its risks are very great, and the mortality is Very 
high; while all risks'are intensified by any marked errors v\ training 
"the mind or the body. This is a period of intense activity 6f develop- 
ment, physical, moral, and mental In this period impressions* are 
absorbed from without which are never afterwards erased from the 
brain. The impressions so inlaid may, it is true, in the after life, 
during the stages of great change and diversion of intellect, be for a 
time forgotten. They are not lost. They are not actually dormant. 
Occasions arise when the man or the woman in full maturity ads 
unwittingly under the impulses or lessons of childhood; from the 
observation of which observed fact came,' I suspect, the saying, that 
" The child is the father of the man." Then, as life advances, as 'the 
hopes and anxieties, ambitions and fears, which have Crowded up the 
middle life pass away, as the brain is left once more iri serenest mood, 
the impressions, the wishes, the impulses of the child-age receive, as 
it were, new development. The memories of the middle passage 
have proved fleeting and obscure ; the memories of the child-life 
remain. The old verses, the old stories, the old events return and 
are remembered with* pleasure or with pain, according to their 
natute, when all else is lost in the shadow of departed teeiqoiy. 
See, then, how important it is to cultivate thi§ Critical "period* of 



Garden Schools and the Kindergarten System. 163 

mental life well It is cultivating a substratum for matured life 
It is actually cultivating a final scene for aged life. 

And if it be important, vital, to cultivate the faculties of the 
mind at the fountain-head of mind, so is it equally necessary to cul- 
tivate the physical faculties. To give, in the age of which we are 
thinking, full play to the limbs ; to call out all sets of muscles in their 
proper rank ; to make the movements of the skeleton graceful and 
natural ; to build up the skeleton into fine shape, so that its cavities 
shall be free and sufficient receptacles for the organs of life which 
they contain,— this is indeed work that is of first order, a foundation 
for the whole of life. Place before a learned and experienced 
physician two children of seven years of age. Let one of these 
children be systematically built ; let it have all the organs of its 
body fairly proportioned ; let its mind be clear and active ; let its 
mind and body tally in respect to form and mould ; let it be light of 
movement, blithe, and ready equally for mind-play or body-play. 
Let the other child be in some respects more determinately deve- 
loped ; let its head or limbs be larger than those of its compeer, but 
out of proportion to its own general development ; let its mind be 
more precocious, and filled with more of so-called special knowledge 
and conceit ; let its muscular power be ever so much more developed 
for random and unsymmetrical exercises. Let these two children, 
I say, of the same age, but of different characters in the lines indi- 
cated, be placed before the learned physician, and let him be asked, 
from his carefully considered experience, which of the two is most 
likely to lead the most happy, the most useful, the most extended 
life : and some great error must underlie experience altogether if he 
will not tell you that the symmetrical, though, in certain details, less 
powerful child, has, by many odds, the best chance of being happy, 
useful, and long-lived. 

In plainest terms, during the term of existence to which the 

educational system of Frcebel is adapted, the best, the truest success 

in education must lie with that plan which shall neither exhaust the 

body at the expense of the mind, nor the mind at the expense of the 

body. So much muscular power naturally expended; so much 

. mental or brain power naturally expended ; so much pleasure in the 

expenditure of both; so much carefully selected food to sustain both ; 

and so. much rest for repair and nutrition ; so much of all these, duly 

and fairly proportioned, and so much will there be of good result in 

the form of common health. I sustain Froebel's discovery and the 

application of it on these grounds : they are sufficient, though none 

mother were to be found. 

M2 



1 64 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

And yet I stand appalled at the magnitude of the task which 
lies before us in bringing the system into general acceptation, and 
in removing the objections of ignorance and the obstacles of ignorance 
that stand in its path. 

I cannot tell, lest I should be judged as giving utterance to an 
extremity of view that were almost revolutionary in education, the 
entire change that must come over the world in regard to the teach- 
ing of the young before a true and sound system of learning shall be 
the order of the day : a system that shall give origin to a pure and 
perfect intellectual manhood, and that shall allow life to progress 
unmolested to its extremest point 

A great and fundamental error pervades our well-meaning philo- 
sophies in respect to the period when education should begin. We 
hear this error described in such terms as these : that to fix truths 
or opinions on the mind permanently, we cannot begin too young ; 
that progress, to be rapid and certain, must be commenced in youth ; 
and that whoever enters a profession or calling must, of all things, 
never enter it late in life if he would succeed. As far as I know, 
there is not a grain of evidence supporting these hypothetical asser- 
tions. On the contrary, we have evidence that many of our very 
greatest men — our truest geniuses — have signalised themselves aftei 
commencing their careers, although the mid-day of their life had 
passed. Of course these examples are few, because custom has 
ruled that they must be few; but they are there, and, so far as 
they go, they demonstrate that the abstract assertion respecting 
necessary failure in those who do not begin young is without any 
solid foundation. 

Froebel assumed that no child should be pressed with artificial 
learning until it had attained the age of seven years. I would 
venture to go further, and say that no artificial education should be 
pressed on any child until it has attained the age of fourteen years- 
I admit that there may be instances of rapid development in which a 
child can learn a great deal before that period, and perhaps without 
injury ; but I am not dealing with such exceptions, and indeed can- 
not admit any exceptions into the argument, because they are too 
few to be weighty. I admit again that, for a time, social necessities 
may compel early education; but this also is apart from the 
true position of the question, because we ought to have no such 
necessities as drive us headlong against nature. When nature, with 
her great, strong, overwhelming voice, is calling to us day by day, 
nay, minute by minute, telling us that we are wrong, and chastising 
us right and left for our wrongness, it is no time to sit at 



Garden Schools and the Kindergarten System. 165 

and plead for necessities which are of our own making and 
from our own folly. It is rather, I should think, time to begin to 
ask whether nature is not wiser than what we call necessity, 
and whether strict obedience to her is not the first and greatest of 
necessities. 

To understand the reason why the immature child should not be 
pestered with artificial knowledge, it is only necessary to recall that 
the amount of natural knowledge which such a child is bound to 
acquire, whether he will or not, is sufficient, however obscure his 
position may be, to demand all the resources of his little intellect. 
We are apt to forget what this natural knowledge is ; to forget that- 
the child comes into life with not a single impression on its brain; 
that as it enters day by day into new spheres, and is brought into con- 
tact with new objects, it has everything to learn ; that it must learn 
names of things, properties of things, reasons for acts which it sees 
done, and all else that goes to make up the inventory of life. This is 
learning, true learning, natural learning, learning of all others not to 
be interfered with, yet most interfered with, nay, sometimes severely 
corrected. What do we too often say of a child who looks into 
everything ; opens bellows, perchance, to find the wind ; beats a hole 
through his drum to discover the cause of sound ; disembowels his 
trumpet to get at the music ; cuts into his ball to see what it is filled 
with ; or takes the back off the head of a doll to know why the 
eyes move ? We say the child is mischievous. Mischievous, indeed ! 
It is trying to know; it is trying to discover the very things we 
should, and in the same way, if we were in like ignorance ; and yet 
we often punish a child for this, as though it were not learning by 
the true and natural method. 

Again, we ruthlessly accuse children of being idle when they will 
not take to books, but will persist in preferring to " look about 
them " and listen to what other people are saying, and to direct our 
attention to what in their estimate are novelties, and in our estimate 
are commonplace things. But what folly is this ! for assuredly, as 
no two bodies can occupy the same space at one and the same time, 
so no one mind can take in two impressions at one and the same 
time; therefore it must be that the child that was learning the 
natural external thing could not, at that same moment, have been 
learning the lesson placed before it in the book. In short, until the 
mind has acquired such a knowledge of surrounding objects as shall 
make it master of all that is connected with the circle in which it 
moves, everything that is artificially thrust into it or upon it must of 
necessity displace some knowledge that was coming tc it naturally, 



1 66 The Gentlernatis Magazine. 

and which, if the knowledge be proper, useful, and good, ought not 
to be displaced. 

But there are other lights in which this question may be viewed. 
It should never be forgotten that all artificial knowledge is based,. 
even when it comes from the profoundest scholar, on natural 
knowledge. There is no reason to doubt, indeed, that we could go 
through life without artificial knowledge ; that we could be learned 
without books ; ay ! and very learned, too, without dogmas, rules, 
abstractions, theories, or philosophies. I do not say this as against 
the artificial, but I say it simply to indicate that the learning mind 
in the individual child ought to follow that same course which the 
universal mind has followed— that is to say, it ought to receive those 
artificial systems by which learning is supposed to be condensed, and 
at the same time amplified, after it has acquired a sound knowledge, 
as widely extended as possible, of the purely natural kind. 

To this may be added the fact, — an all-important fact, by the 
way, — that if into the impressionable mind ideas be thrust, and if on 
it opinions and dogmas be fixed, such ideas, opinions, or dogmas, 
being those of mature minds, and not occurring to the young spon-s 
taneously, are apt to take root and to remain there throughout life 
unchanged and unchangeable. Is any picture more objectionable 
than that of a child with the views of a matured man ? When we 
meet with it in its fullest development, we treat it with contempt, 
astonishment, or pity, according to our appreciation of the pheno. 
menon. We know, by experience, that the ability displayed is 
abortive, that it ought not to be there, and that being there it must 
spoil the future growth. The Japanese have a method of. producing 
miniature oaks, pines, and other noble trees of the forest. They 
take a little sapling, place it in a flower-pot, cut down its rootlets, 
and give to it all the conditions of maturity, and it grows up a lovely 
little curiosity — a perfect old oak which a lady can lift in her hand 
and place in her boudoir. Very pretty indeed, very curious, an 
extremely striking illustration of the way in which little men can 
thwart, dwarf, and limit the great designs of the Great Schoolmaster 1 
But in that all is said that can be said, and it is not much to say. 
We ourselves imitate the same playing with the grand schemes of the 
universe, the same attempt to limit them, when we strive to thrust 
the maturity of the man on the young child. Goethe, dwelling on 
this same subject, has, if I recollect rightly, drawn a different 
analogy. He reasons on the forcing of children by comparing the 
act to the sowing of an acorn in a vase. The acorn, he says, grows, 
but the vase is destroyed. The simile is very beautiful poetically, 



Gar dm Sckook and the. Kindergarten. System. 167 

but not comprehensively true ; for, though the vase may sometimes 
be destroyed, it may also remain, letting grow from out of it an 
abortive oak. 

The development of knowledge, that is to say, of facts and objects 
in the! mind, requires to be constantly revised in the progress of 
time ; and that man. is the profoundest scholar who subjects his 
thoughts and reasonings to the publication of constant new editions. 
If we grow up with something always before us, —a town, a church, a 
castle, or aught else, — it assumes new proportions in "our estimate 19 
every day of our lives. As the capacity of the brain enlarges, in fact, 
the picture painted upon it diminishes, retaining always a proportion 
estimated by its own permanent dimensions and our fluctuating 
appreciation. But if in our childhood we receive a picture of a 
village, a mountain, or a building, and then for many years are 
separated from it, bearing it only in our recollection, we are 
astounded, on returning to it again, to discover how smalt it is. 
Cobbett has very beautifully illustrated this in the narrative of his 
revisit to his native ullage after many years of absence ; and the 
experience is c6mmon, I believe, to every one of us who are of 
mature age. • Things grow relatively smaller, in fact, as the mental 
surface increases. The first picture taken by the mind is as a 
photograph, fixed long and never quite fading. We are removed 
from it, but it remains, and holds its place by the side of other 
subjects photographed later and later still, until we return to it as an 
original picture, and photograph it again with our larger camera and 
larger plate; then the new picture absorbs the older one, to our 
wonder and almost to our distrust. 

. I have applied this argument as yet tQ physical learning only ; but 
the same reasoning applies to abstract learning, to knowledge founded 
on lesson, dogma, or inference. Between the physical and the meta- 
physical pictures, — between the demonstrable and the conjectural, — 
there is, however, a wide difference with regard to after-conse- 
quences.. The man who has formed an exaggerated child's idea of 
the size of his village church can correct his first impression by 
reference to the actual object ; whereas, in regard to an opinion, he 
can make no such easy correction, owing to the difficulty with which 
the opinion is approached, and the reasoning that leads up to it. 
Hence, if in early life a superstition becomes firmly fixed in the brain, 
it usually remains there, — remains there to the exclusion of something 
better and wiser. It is in this way only that we can account— and in 
this way we can account readily— for the perversity, I had almost 
said, with which, in contradiction to matured experience, we so often 



1 68 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

retain legends of the nursery. One of the ablest men I have the 
pleasure to know, who now receives incredulously all the mysticism 
of the supernatural, is still, in spite of himself, afraid of ghosts. A 
haunted house is to him a perpetual horror. Why? For the simple 
reason that in his childhood the history of a so-called haunted hous$, 
and the stories connected with it, formed one of the most prominent 
articles of his daily mental food. In truth, he had a haunted home, 
with its attendant ghost, impressed on his little brain, and there if 
remains, and will remain so long as he has a working brain at all* 

I must be pardoned if I have dwelt rather long on the physical 
development of ideas, for it is impossible to deal fairly and con- 
clusively with the subject on which I am treating in the abftncf of 
such kinds of illustration. The sole intention of the argument fs to 
show that it is the worst of all policies to charge the mind of the 
child with artificial teachings and dogmas, which are themselves 
in a transitional state, and which time and new discovery may 
sweep entirely away and condemn to ignominious oblivion. I 
would venture, indeed, to suggest this rule for all who have the 
management of youth : that while the young mind should be allowed 
to take in at its pleasure as much of the external universe as it can 
have presented to it, no attempt whatever should be mad* to sur- 
charge it with any opinions save those which are founded on the most 
comprehensive experience, and which tend to develop the scientific 
and moral life. Nay, is regard to all opinions, they are better taught 
by example than by precept ; example being the physical embodi- 
ment and presentment of principles. 

On these rules, the simplest learning of the external world becomes 
the task, in the first place, of the brain. On that the process of 
reasoning — that is to say, of comparison — may safely follow ; 
and when the mind is fully formed by the two processes named, 
independent opinion may and ought to follow, but never before. 

Another argument in favour of the line of instruction marked out 
above is, that the brain, even at its best, is only capable of taking in 
a certain measure of knowledge. Pressed too closely, it has a 
tendency to become strong on one or two points only. It has, 
perchance, a natural aptitude for certain developments, and these, as 
a result, become all-powerful, to the exclusion of other faculties 
which, had the cultivation been even and unforced, would have been 
also developed and brought out, leading to the formation of a 
vigorous and well-balanced intellect. I believe it will be found, 
without exception, that men of one idea have been overpressed 
children, who, finding it impossible to take in all that was tried to 



Garden Schools and the Kindergarten System. 169 

be driven into them, contented themselves at last with one object, 
and were lost to everything else ; lost, I may say without compunc- 
tion: for if there is a living bore greater than another, it is the man 
who knows but one thing. He is eaten up with conceit, despising 
those who are not up to his mark, sneering at those who are, jealous 
that he is not appreciated, and serenely indifferent to the best and 
noblest labours of humanity. The rudest observant child of nature, 
if he be honest and can describe her ways, is a boon companion 
compared with the man of one idea. 

The power of the brain to receive impressions — the quality of the 
organ, in other words — shows itself in the capacity it exhibits for 
absorbing the external world. Quickness of perception indicates a 
brain ready and facile at absorption : dulness indicates smallness 
of the brain, or quality that does not receive. But under our present 
systems we commonly treat both conditions as one ; we spur on the 
precocious child because it is precocious, and we spur on the dull 
child because it is dull In both cases we err. When the mind is 
easily influenced, the danger usually consists in pressing its powers 
too far, in making a show and wonder of what can be done. When 
the mind is dull and stupid, it is often filled to repletion before the 
earnest teacher is conscious of the fact : it is thus overburdened and 
worn by the pressure, but it is not instructed. 

If any organ of the body other than the brain were concerned, 
the fallacy would be seen easily enough. We should never think of 
systematically working sound and active eyes into amaurosis, nor of 
subjecting weak eyes to intense sunlight; but when we have brains 
to deal with, we commit follies equal to both these, and think 
we are performing an essentially good service. 

In our walks through life, how differently constituted do we find 
matured men ! Of one man we say he has good common sense, 
but no accurate knowledge ; he is trained to argument, but he lacks 
in comparisons, and the shallowness of his information leaves all his 
pretensions stranded. That man has been taught to reflect before 
he was told to perceive. Another man is all knowledge ; reason and 
comparison in his case have lost their natural and developing 
power ; he can remember endless things and facts, speak and read 
in various languages, make long calculations by strict rule, and 
astonish the world with his erudition. This man, educated by the 
extreme forced and artificial system, has laid no basis for comparison 
of natural things, but is proud in being " replete with thoughts of 
other men/' and of having so much unassorted information buried 
deep in his intellectual recesses. 



170 The Gentleman's Magazines ... ■ / v 

Now and then, but only now and then, by accident as. it wet£, 
we meet with the man who is learned on the natural plan, .who has 
never been oppressed with book-hardships, but who has gradually 
acquired and then arranged his knowledge. Such a man, if his 
physical life has been equally well sustained, is a man of the day, a 
man who is sure to be pre-eminent, a keystone in that royal arch that 
is made up of knowledge and wisdom. 

Inharmonious development of the body and mind of the child, 
during the first years of its life, leads to failure of. power, physical 
and mental — in other words, to disease of body as well as of 
mind. The danger, no doubt, is most urgent when the overstrain 
is on the mind. The endeavour to fill the minds of children, 
with artificial information leads to one of two results.. Not 
unfrequently in the very young it gives rise to direct disease of 
the brain itself; to hydrocephalus (water on the brain), to deposit 
of tubercle if there be predisposition to that disease, to con- 
vulsive attacks, and even to epilepsy. In less extreme cases it 
causes simple weakness and exhaustion of the mental organs, with 
irregularity of power. The child may grow up with a memory taxed 
with technical details, impressed so forcibly that it is hard to make 
way for other knowledge. And, added to these mischiefs, there may 
be, and often is, the further evil, that the brain, owing to the labour 
put on it, becomes too fully and rapidly developed, too firm, and 
too soon mature, so that it remains throughout life always a large. 
child's brain, very wonderful in a child, and equally ridiculous in a 
man or woman. The development in an excessive degree of 6ne 
particular faculty is also a common cause of feebleness. I knew an 
instance in which a child was "blessed," as it was said, with a, 
marvellous gift of verbal memory. This being his "forte,": his 
teacher, who wished every scholar to be remarkable for something 
beyond other scholars, played on this "forte" powerfully and with 
wonderful effect. By constant cultivation of the one faculty, this 
marvellous boy could learn off fifty lines of " Paradise Lost "or of 
any other book at a single reading, and could repeat ilia lesson 
on the spot without missing a word or omitting a stop. ~ But the 
result was that, when the. boy was sent to a university to learn a 
profession, he was beaten in the learning of detailed and detached 
facts by almost every fellow-student. Seeing slowly but surely where. 
his weakness lay, the youth ceased to call into play his remarkable- 
talent. It was a terrible task; but he accomplished it at last to a con- 
siderable degree, though never effectually. For a long time he.made 
mistakes that were most annoying : he was unable, for instance t to 



Garden Schools and ike Kindergarten Sy stent. 17 V 

cast up accurately any column of figures ; he forgot dates ; he ran 
over or under important appointments ; he misnamed authors in 
speaking of works of science, art, or letters ; and, in reasoning, he 
would mix up two or three subjects. It took him full ten long years 
to unlearn his wonderful technical art. 

For the reasons given, I have always persistently opposed the 
special-prize system in schools and colleges. As a teacher and as a 
student, I can recall no single instance in which noted prizemen in 
youth bore away more than other men the prizes— that is to say, the 
successes — of after-life. I have, however, many times known the 
successful prizeman in the class to be the least successful afterwards, 
and as often have known the ordinary man in class come out as 
the best man in life. 

Overwork in the child and in the student defeats, therefore, its own 
object. It does not bring out the powerful brain necessary for the 
man : for all life is as a new and great lesson, and some young brain 
must be left free for the reception of lesson on lesson. Of this there 
need be no doubt, and there we may leave the first and leading fact. 
But the danger of overwork, unfortunately, is not confined U> the brain; 
it extends to the body as a whole. When the brain is overworked in 
the growing child, however well the child may be fed, there will be 
exhaustion of nervous force in proportion to the overwork. There- 
upon will follow faulty nutrition, a stunted growth, a weak bodily 
framework, a badly-developed skeleton, altogether an impaired 
organism. 

II. 

I have dwelt thus long on Fraud's first principle of education, 
because it is without any doubt the chief part. It seems, however, 
to me that he made a second discovery and application, in respect to 
women as teachers. It is part of the Frcebei system that the woman 
should be the teacher of the child between its third and seventh year. 
If this were carried out, every woman might have the fortunate oppor- 
tunity of conveying information to the young at a time when woman's 
intuitive care and gentleness would be most precious to the young 
themselves. Under such a system, every mother would become a 
teacher ; and, in so far as education is concerned, every woman would 
become a mother. Surely I need not dwell long on the advantages 
attendant on this reform in educational plans. What parents are 
there who would not prefer to commit their small and helpless 
children to maternal care and guidance, rather than send them 
out, while they are as ignorant as they are helpless, to bear the tender 
mercies of a school where older children, sharp, selfishly trained, 



172 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

and masterful, live to worry and oppress the untrained ? The thing 
speaks for itself. Nor do the advantages end here. There is a gain 
to the woman who teaches. In the act of teaching, she learns. She 
learns to understand human character ; she learns to understand 
temperament ; she learns to understand capacity. Thus she learns 
how to direct the mind, not only in its first steps, but through life; and 
women taught by teaching in this manner would, in a generation or 
two, become such guides and advisers, that a new race, I had nearly 
said, of healthful men and women would be introduced on the 
stage of the world. 

III. 
There is a third discovery and application of discovery in the 
Frcebel system which calls for our attention. Frcebel aimed, and as I 
think successfully, to make such a system of education for the young 
that education and happiness should flow in one continuous stream. 
For the future welfare of the men or women I know of nothing more 
telling than this. In children three temperaments or dispositions 
should evet be under the observation of the teacher. There are some 
children born of such powerfully happy disposition that nothing dis- 
turbs them. Joseph Priestley was one of these fortunates. He was bom, 
he says, with happiness of mind as an inheritance. So, through all his 
varied and anxious life he maintained his equal disposition. Obstacles 
the most serious did not affect him. When he became a preacher, 
he found an impediment in his speech ; he combated it without a 
murmur. He was poor, and wanted means for scientific research : 
still he was happy. He saw some of his finest and most original 
researches appropriated by others : he was not miserable. In 
Birmingham his house was burnt down by a mad mob, and all 
his household gods were cast to the winds : he knew no despair. He 
came to London a martyr of freedom, to be cut dead by his old 
companions of the Royal Society: he went on undismayed. At 
last, in his old age, he found it necessary to leave his native country, 
and to retire to die in the beautiful wilds of Northumberland, 
in America : yet he remained content, and died a death the most 
peaceful and blessed. It is well for us to know of such fortunate 
men ; but they are too exceptional to affect a general system, and we 
must therefore provide to make all as happy. To do this, we have to 
study the children in respect to temperament. We find some children 
that are naturally happy, but easily depressed : others that are naturally 
melancholic, and that require at all times to be led on and encour- 
aged. A system that is hard, over- strained, harsh, and unnatural, 



Garden Schools and the Kindergarten System. 1 73 

fails ever to reach successfully either of these classes. It takes away 
the happiness from those who are born happy ; it confirms melancholy 
and distrust in those who are born melancholic. Frcebel's system 
lays hold favourably of both these characters ; it sustains the merry, 
it cheers the sad. 

And think of the boon that is thus conferred. Think how bitter 
is the remembrance of a miserable childhood. What tares are set to 
grow in the rank soil of an unhappy youthful training ! I believe, 
from what the many miserable have confided to me, that more than 
half the deepest sorrows and anxieties and irritabilities of existence are 
sown at the period of life which we have now under consideration. 

For suggesting the cultivation of immediate and lasting happiness ; 
for charging the young and impressionable mind with ideas, thoughts, 
knowledges, and habits which will always afterwards be remembered 
with pleasure, we have to thank Frcebel. He was the first practical 
scholar who showed how the thing could be done. 

IV. 
The three leading features of the Frcebel system thus explained, 
I would for a moment touch on the work of the school conducted 
on his system. The grand principles we have before us are to make 
body and mind develop in harmony together. The question 
stands : — How shall physical and mental growth, physical health 
and mental health, be made to go hand in hand ? Surely there is 
nothing in nature that shall part them ! Nothing. All that is 
wanted is for men to come to nature. But so wide is the depth 
between the order and the ordination of nature, and the order and 
ordination of man in this phase of his civilisation, that any effort 
to remedy the evils extant, by modification of current details, must 
still be long and difficult. That which is wanted is an entire and 
radical change. For the very young we want teachers who would 
shut up the schoolroom and would, if it were possible, take 
the school for instruction into that room the canopy of which 
is the blue heavens ; and who, instead of having holidays at 
fixed seasons, would make all youth a perpetual holiday. Such 
teachers in their rambles, and in quiet hours with their boys or 
girls around them, will repeat in simple language the great wonders 
of the past, the glories of the present, and the possibilities of the 
future. They will press no book into the unwilling hand, stimulate 
no brain into maddening exertion ; but will watch for indication of 
independent learning, and encourage that according as may seem to 
them discreet They will consider the physical welfare of their 






174 The Gentleman 9 s Magazine. ' ' o 

charges as equally important with the mental; assured that in a sound 
organism sound learning will ripen, but that in a diseased body there 
can be no greatness. By this method the child will be prepared /or 
the work of youth, and for instruction by moderate self-application. 
It will naturally, and without effort, learn to speak at least one 
language, and to read and write one. It will learn endless natural 
facts, and will pass to further studies with a mind free for the admis- 
sion of best impressions, and rich in simple and useful information, 
on which anything good may be built Thus ready for its second 
course, it will run the rapid race to the height of learning, strong of 
heart and of brain. Unworn by previous cares, and untrammelled 
by unnecessary fetters imposed in childhood, — which, thrown off 
never so determinedly, leave their deep scars and indents behind,— 
it will continue to learn first from nature as she is opened to the 
mind ; but it will also venture to learn from books, which are in fact 
nature refracted, condensed, focussed by many eyes, and pictured in 
the condensed form and type by many hands. So it will glide into 
the stage of manhood or womanhood, when it may reason, and on 
sound knowledge lay the foundations of wisdom. 

As it seems to me — and I speak from direct observation of the 
system in its practical working — the Froebel method answers very 
largely this description of teaching. If it does not take the young 
out into the fields to learn first lessons, — and in the crowded city and 
in our varying climate it cannot systematically do that, — it makes the 
schoolroom assimilate as nearly as possible to the outdoor existence. 
The child is taught through play. It begins to learn from the ball; 
it builds up its knowledge from toys of wood,-— lines, angles, squares, 
figures, and letters; it learns the natural changes of the seasons in a 
merry dance; it is taught the modes of conducting trades, of 
travelling, of wandering over the different parts of the earth, in the 
same mirthful manner. It sails over the seas in its play, stops 
at various ports, and takes in merchandise as it goes. In this there is 
play, acquisition of learning, grasp, and delight Then it moves to the 
modelling of figures and forms in clay, so that its hands are made to 
become obedient to its will; and if there be any genius for art talent in 
the mind, it is here likely to be fed. In a word, I know nothing better 
for the years of life from three to seven than the Kindergarten. 

Some of you would like to ask me, perhaps, whether the Kinder- 
garten, conducted on the strict German system, is entirely adapted 
to English wants and tastes. Candidly, I do not think it is. There 
is a social element, a Celtic element, in the English school. which 
is not" so prominent in the German, and which requires to' be thought 



Garden Softools and tk& Kin&fgartcn System, i 75 

of in education. This element is more active, spirited, shall I say 
boisterous, than the Teuton and Jewish, and it requires to be 
sobered down by some slight impress of actual lesson as the fifth 
year is approached There might therefore, I surmise, be introduced 
into the English school a little more reading and writing— a change 
which would conform also with English tastes. Again, I do not 
think the term. Kindergarten a good one for England. The English 
people do not understand what it means, and if they do, it is still 
foreign to them. There is a national dislike, if not a national pre- 
judice, against terms that are of foreign sound. I should suggest, 
thertfowij that in this coiihtry the Kindergarten should be called 
the Child's Garden, or* better still, the Garden School. 
1 : Tke objection often made, that'the garden element of teaching- 
teaching actually in the garden— -cannot be carried on in England, is 
true- and not true We cannot, strictly speaking, go dut with children 
iiit8 ^1 garden for many months in the year; but in our largest towns 
and cities there is all the lost space dri the roofs of our houses, which 
space," enclosed ohla flat surface, would form for schools the best arti- 
ficial ^gardens that could be made. Wherever the photographer can 
place a- studio for catching the rays of the sun, the teacher can place 
a garden for his garden school. -Thus upper London might soon be 
converted into garden schools, and nearest to th£ sky in all the 
£laxe, the sunlight might be utilised for flowers of both worlds,' the 

beautiful plant arid the highest animal. 

- : My task for this time is done. I support the Frcebel system of 
education on Its merits. I would support it further as a check on 
that deathly destruction of all true learning which is now going on in 
our colleges, schools, and families, which is oppressing our youth of 
both sexes, killing genius, making the thoughtless frivolous, the 
thoughtful commonplace, and preparing all for nothing above mere 
♦stagnant mediocrity. 

As I close the page, and recall what Frcebel has accomplished, 
I would add a final word relating to the work of our own great school- 
reformers in this same direction. To the late Mr. Hill of Birming- 
ham, and to that most remarkable of remarkable women, the Mater 
docentis of modern England, Mary Carperfter,— whose life Miss Hart 
.bas so well written,- — we can never 3 feel tbo grateful. Be it out duty 
ie fbHow them in sustaining an education for -the young that shall 

'elevate the -natioii by its' simplicity? its -usefulness, atidfts- virtues. 
. .•-..-- .... •*._-_--• - . . 

. .:.-:: 1BENJAHIN: WARD RICHARDSON. 



176 The Gentleman's Magazine* 



SOME ANIMAL BIOGRAPHIES 
AND THEIR LESSONS. 

Part II. 

FROM the crustacean array we may next select a form which, 
whilst it resembles the Barnacle in many of its features, and 
especially in development, is yet sufficiently distinct to lead towards 
forms presenting greater differences in the adult stage and yet ex- 
hibiting close identity in the early phases of existence. Such a form 
is the Sacculina (Fig. 13), the type of Crustaceans of the very lowest 
grade, and which live an attached, rooted, and parasitic existence on 
fishes or on other crustaceans. If a barnacle exhibits " retrograde 
development" or physiological backsliding, in that it appears to be a 
lower and more modified form when adult than when in the pupa* 
stage, the Sacculina and its neighbours exhibit a still more degraded 
condition. The organism just named exists as a sausage-like bag 
attached to the bodies of hermit-crabs. There exist no traces of a 
mouth — or, as Fritz Miiller remarks, "they lose all their limbs 
completely, and appear as sausage-like, sack-shaped, or discoidal 
excrescences of their host, filled with ova (or eggs) ; from the point of 
attachment closed tubes, ramified like roots, sink into the interior of 
the host, twisting round its intestine, or becoming diffused among 
the sac-like tubes of its liver. The only manifestations of life which 
persist in these non plus ultras in the series of retrogressively 
metamorphosed Crustacea, are powerful contractions of the roots, 
and an alternate expansion and contraction of the body, in conse- 
quence of which water flows into the brood-cavity and is again 
expelled through a wide orifice." 

Now, the history of Sacculina-development clearly proves its 
relationship with other crustaceans. As an adult, a Sacculina might 
literally be anything in the way of animal organisation. It is a bag 
filled with eggs, and attached by roots to a hermit-crab. As such, 
its true nature is not recognisable by any of the deductions to be 
drawn from the ordinary facts of animal structure. Development, 
however, not only shows us its descent, but settle's its place in 
the animal scale by declaring its affinities, not only with die 




Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons, i 7 7 

Barnacles, but with other crustaceans. From each egg contained 
within the bag-like body there is developed a little free-swimming 
creature (Fig. 16). This embryo possesses an oval body, ending 
in two short processes ; three pairs of swimming 
feet are developed ; a single eye may or may not 
be present; but we find in the young Sacculina 
a clear and unmistakable reproduction of the 
"Nauplius" (Fig. 14) of a Barnacle. No mouth 
or digestive system, however, exists in the 
youthful Sacculina, which shortly changes into 
the "pupa" state (Fig. 15, c). Here it closely 
resembles the Cypris — water-flea (Fig. 11, b), 
whose development we shall presently note. It Fio. it 

possesses a shell folded down at the edges Vov:ia swaum*. 
so as to enclose the body ; the front pair of limbs, as in the 
Barnacle, become modified to form organs of attachment ; the two 
remaining pairs of feet are cast off; and, as in the Barnacle, six pairs of 
forked swimming feet appear on the body behind, while the forked 
tail is also a characteristic feature of the young Sacculina. Then 
succeeds the stage of attachment The front feet, or feelers, serve as 
means of fixation to the body of the crab-host ; the remaining six 
pairs are cast off ; the roots are developed from the feelers, and the 
animal thus assumes the adult sac-like and degraded form. Thus a 
Sacculina and its parasitic neighbours closely resemble barnacles up 
to the pupa-stage. At this point the evolution — manifested in 
" degradation " — of the Sacculina intervenes, and the six pairs of feet, 
which in the Barnacles are converted into the "cirri" or "plumes," 
arc cast aside as useless ; whilst the process of extreme modification 
for a life of parasitism as effectually moulds the remaining features of 
the organism in the characteristic ways of Sacculina life — namely, as 
the sausage-like sac, fixed to its crab-host. There can be no question, 
that Barnacle growth and Sacculina development run in strictly 
parallel grooves. 

Allusion has been made to the likeness exhibited by the " pupai " 
of the Barnacle and Sacculina to the perfect and adult form of those 
water-fleas which, like Cypris and Daphnia (Fig. 11, b, c), are 
familial tenants of our fresh waters. The development of the " water- 
fleas" — under which general name very diverse beings are included 
—is highly instructive, in that it leads us to note how the community 
of development existing among Crustacea extends its roots so as to 
include every group or order of that class within its limits. The Cypris 
(Fig. 11, B)and its neighbours are known by their possession ofa distinct 

VOL. CCL. NO. 1903, N 



173 



The Gentleman s Magazine. 



bivalve shell — that is to say, a shell consisting of two pieces, united 
along the back by a membrane serving as a hinge. Two or three 
pairs of feet exist, but these creatures appear to swim chiefly by aid 
of the tail. Now, the young Cypris leaves the egg as a " Nauplius " 
with three pairs of limbs. It possesses, like the Barnacle-nauplius, a 
single eye, and it appears to develop a shell likewise. The adult 
condition is attained in due course, with the production of the 
bivalve shell ; and the three pairs of limbs of the " Nauplius " are 
converted respectively into the greater and lesser pair of antennae and 
into the mandibles or jaws of the adult. The other feet of the full- 
grown Cypris are also developed in its later stages of growth, which 
are manifested by frequent moultings of the skin. A young Cypris 
therefore resembles a young barnacle in its Nauplius-form, and in the 
transformation of its anterior limbs into antennae or feelers, which, in 
the water-fleas, serve the purpose indicated by the latter name — or may 
even be used for swimming, as in the Daphnia, or " branch-horned 
water-flea " (Fig. 1 1, c). In the correspondence between the bivalved 
Cypris and the pupa Barnacle or pupa Sacculina, we may possibly 
discover, likewise, the ultimate point of divergence between these 
diverse groups of Crustaceans. 

Other water-fleas, such as Daphnia and Cyclops (Fig. n, c, a), 
present variations in their early history from the chronicle of Cypris 
development The Cyprides are perhaps the least modified of the 
water-flea race ; this conclusion being supported by the greater com- 
plexity of other water-fleas as well as by the course of development of 
the latter. The anatomical investigation of a Cyclops presents us 
with an oval body or carapace (Fig. u, a), bearing a single eye ; 
with two pairs of feelers, big and little ; with a jointed tail, forked at 
its tip ; and with five pairs of swimming feet In Cyclops-develop- 
ment a singular resemblance is presented to that of certain low 

crustaceans parasitic on fishes : and 
it will be instructive therefore to com- 
pare these early stages, in both groups. 
The first Stage in Cyclops-history 
(Fig. \j) repeats the now familiar 
Nauplius, with its oval body, its central 
eye, and its three pairs of legs. Next 
are developed the chest and tail regions ; 
and six feet appear as the belongings of 
the latter. Then appears another pair 
Piaxj. Nacfiiw of cvcto«. oflimbs; and the three limbs of the 
•Nauplius become the greater and lesser pairs of feelet% and the great 




Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. 1 79 

Jaws, »s in Cypris. After a series of moults, the outlines of the 
Cyclops-body begin to be apparent ; but it is worthy of remark, that 
beyond the stage in which 
the tail-region with its six 
feet is developed, those 
lower and parasitic cms- 
,taceans : — tbe fish-lice just 
referred to — do not pass. 
The further history of 
Cyclops is simply a record 
of moults and the growth of 
new joints and appendages ; 
that of the fish-lice is a bis- 
toiy of retrogression.: The. 
fish-lice are represented by 
such forms as Lernxoctra . 
(? 'ig-j8), or Chendrocanthut, 
which latter in its maturity 
Tnay >be found sometimes by 
the. dozen inthe gill-chamber 
of - that- ungainly fish the 
Angler .or Fishing Frog 
(Lr'pAiits piscatorial). Ler- F<c- iB, Fish-i.oi.sk and its Nai'ilius. 

n&<xera presents us, as an adult, with a shapeless flattened body, about 
half an inch long, possessing tbe merest rudiments of limbs. Each fish- 
louse begins life-as a Nauplius (Fig. 18, c), exactly resembling that of 
the Cyclops, water-flea (Fig. 17). It develops to resemble still more 
thoroughly the after-stages of Cyclops, but retrogresses therefrom and 
becomes modified for a parasitic life. Still more marked is this modi- 
fication in Other fish-lice {Acthms and Lerntxa) which resemble Cyclops 
as closely as does Chondrocantbus, but which, sooner or later, become 
worm-like or otherwise degraded. The suppositions, entertained by 
competent authorities, firstly, that the fish-lice (Fig. 1 8) and water-fleas 
of the Cyclops-type (Fig.' 1 1, a) have sprung from the same stock ; and 
secondly, that the fish-lice are simply Cyclopean beings degraded by 
the adoption of parasitic habits, are therefore fully warranted by a 
consideration of the plain facts presented to us in their development. 
Or once again,.io state a cardinal proposition of Evolution — the passing 
development of individuals repeats and reproduces, with modifications, 
the fixed and past development of the race and class. 

To trace in full the record of Crustacean development would 
cohsiderably exceed the limits which the patience of the reader might 




1 80 



TJu Gentleman's Magazini. 



bear, and would unnecessarily protract and repeat facts already 
exhibited and illustrated by the life-histories just recorded. It might 
be highly profitable, for instance, to trace the 
development of those peculiar Crustaceans, 
the King Crabs or Limuii (Fig. 19), which, as 
\ living forms, stand well-nigh alone in their class, 
I and remain connected with other Crustaceans, 
' only as the leaves on the extremities of one 
branch of a tree may be said to be connected 
with those at the tip of another and widely 
divergent bough. These crabs at one stage 
of their development, and before leaving the 
egg — within which all their notable features 
are acquired — present a most remarkable 
resemblance to certain of those singular fossil 
crabs (Fig. 20), the Trilobites (Preshmchia), 
and likewise at another stage to the larva of 
certain other Trilobites {Trinuelttts), This 
1 comparing the larva of the King Crab 
(Fig. 11, b) with the larval Trilobite (a) ; and still more striking is 
the resemblance between the King Crab at a later stage (Fig. »a) 
and the adult Trilobites (Fig. 20), Thus, whilst the Trilobite-racc 




resemblance is well seen < 




and their neighbours (Eurypterida) of Silurian age have died out of 
existence, the King Crabs, springing presumably from the same root* 
stock, have undergone modification as descent proceeded along " the 
files of time," and remain to present a crab-race of an age and type, 
compared with which our existing crabs are but as creatures 'of 
yesterday. So also we might, did space permit, strive to show that 
those curious creatures, the Brine Shrimps (ArUmia) (Fig. 33, a) of 
the Lymington salt-pans and the Great Salt Lake; the Fairy Shrimps, 
which, like Crustacean ghosts, flit through our fresh waters ; or the 



Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. \ 8 1 

curious Apus, with its sixty pairs of feet, begin life each as a Nauplius 
(Fig. 33, b), bearing either two or the statutory three pairs of limbs. 





Uim of Kino Chi aho Tmuniit 

And the account of other Crustaceans in which (as in the woodlice 
tribe) the Nauplius- stage is passed either within the egg or is alto, 
gether suppressed, might simi- 
larly bring again before our 
mental view the operation of 
the laws and principle of 
modification. It may, how- 
ever, suffice, if, in drawing 
Crustacean history to a close, 
we select a few examples of 
development from the highest 
and most specialised group of 
the class— that of the Crabs, 
Shrimps, Prawns, fitc. In such *"■* •»• &«»■ s«nif amd youmo. 
a history, we may discover the important fact that, notwithstanding 
modification, and despite the high specialisation ot these latter 
animals from the primitive types and root-stock of Crustacea, 
their community of descent with that of all other members of 
the class is proved by those clues and traces which, all-insigni- 
ficant as they may appear to the ordinary observer, literally afford 
to the zoologist proofs and confirmations of the strongest character 
of the truth of the theory of descent 

The higher Crustaceans (or Decafoda, as they are called), includ- 
ing the Crabs (Fig. io), Lobsters, Shrimps, Prawns, &c, as their 
typical representatives, present us with a sufficiently diverse group of 
beings viewed as adults, and likewise afford illustration of equal 
diversity in their development Such diversities may be well 
observed in the comparative study of the early history of such a 
seiies of forms as is presented by the lobsters and crayfish, by certain 
shrimps, and by the common crabs. In its development, the crayfish 



183 



The Gentleman's Magazine, 




apparently presents but little that is ' remarkable, as compared with 
Crustaceans of lower nature. Both crayfish and lobster come from 
the egg (Fig. 24) in the essential guise of their species or race ; and 
the free-swimming " Nauplius-stage," so universal amongst lower 
Crustaceans, is apparently unknown in their life-histories, 'there is 
clear evidence, at the 
same time, to show that 
"Nauplius"condition 
is represented in the 
egg- development, but 
that this phase is ob- 
scured and modified 
presumably through 
those causes and con- 
ditions which have 
placed the lobster and 
crayfish amongst the 
aristocracy of the Crus- 
tacean class. Speaking 
of the development of the Crayfish and of its' Naupli us -stage, 
Huxley says, that animal "is wholly incapable of an independent 
existence at this stage, and continues its embryonic life within 
the egg-case; but it is a remarkable circumstance that the; cells 
of the epiblast (or outer layer of the body) secrete- * delicate 
cuticula, which is subsequently shed. It is as if the animal symbolised 
a Naupllus condition by the development of the cuticle, as the foetal 
whalebone whale symbolises a toothed condition by developing teeth 
which are subsequently lost and never perform any function/' And 
again, speaking of the Crayfish, Huxley says : " In this Crustacean, in 
fact, it would appear that the process of development has undergone 
its maximum of abbreviation." As already remarked, the progressive 
advance and evolution of a group must naturally include in their 
course, changes and modifications in development as part and parcel 
of the higher order and structure to which the advancing member* 
of the group attain. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that' the 
crayfish or lobster (Fig. 24) should evince an absence in their de- 
velopment of those phases and repetitions of their ancestry, of which 
their lower and more primitive neighbours, the barnacles, &c, pre- 
sent such typical examples. Whilst, at the same- time, it is equally 
notable and interesting to discover that in Nature's process oft- 
repeated exceptions prove the rule; and that here and there, th* 
exceptions to the ordinary development of higher Crustaceans 




Some Animal Biographies and their Lessons. 183 

certainly prove that their original way of evolution has lain through 
the pathways so plainly marked out in the lower ranks of the class. 
Such exceptions occur within the family circle of the crayfish and 
lobster kind ; and are even 
represented in the early 
history of that most familiar 
of Crustaceans, the com- 
mon crab itself. This ani- 
mal possesses a life-history 
which, whilst it presents 
striking analogies to that 
of lower Crustaceans, like- 
wise oners some interesting 
points of difference from 
the development of the 
latter animals. Within the 
egg, as in the case of the crayfish, the youthful crab appears to pass 
its Nauplius-stage, and sooner or later it emerges upon the world of 
waters in a form with which our previous researches have not made 
us familiar. The young crab (Fig. 15, a) possesses a short body, 
which at first sight appears like a huge head, and a jointed tail. In 
front and above are spinous projections, the upper of which reminds 
one of the end of a nightcap long drawn out. A single and simple 
eye is placed between two very large compound organs of sight; 
four antenna; or feelers exist, and three pairs of jaws — this young 
being thus presenting us with the complete furnishings of the head 
of the adult. There likewise exist traces of appendages which 
represent foot-jaws in the full-grown crab, but the jointed tail pos- 
sesses no addenda or belongings save bristle-like processes attached 
to its broad and divided extremity. 

In 1778 there was figured by a Dutch naturalist a new form of 
Crustacean which was met with in 1823 in large numbers in the Cove 
of Cork by Mr. Vaughan Thompson. These beings were referred to a 
genus Zoea, which had been constructed for their reception. Later re- 
search, however, showed that the Zoeas were merely the young or larval 
crabs, just described, and the further development of the Zoeas was 
in due course satisfactorily traced. For, after repeated moults, the 
Zoea becomes the Mtgalopa (Fig. 35, b). Its body has now assumed a 
shape distantly resembling that of the mature crab, and its five pairs 
of walking legs are well developed. It possesses, however, an 
appendage, unknown in the adult crab, in the shape of a jointed tail 
provided with appendages ; and as the Megalopa, the crab bears a 




1 84 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

very decided resemblance to one of its tailed neighbours, such as the 
lobsters or shrimps. Ultimately the body widens, after further 
moultings ; the tail decreases in size, loses its appendages, and 
becomes tucked up under the body, to form the characteristic little 
" purse " of the adult crab ; and, finally, with the proportional growth 
and development of other regions and parts, the features of adult 
crab-life (Fig. 25, c) are duly produced. Thus a crab's body really 
consists of a greatly broadened head and chest, and the jointed tail 
we see in the lobster or shrimp is represented in mature crab* 
existence by the little appendage or " purse," which, on examination, 
will be found to bear rudiments of the appendages so typically de- 
veloped in the long-tailed neighbours of 
the crab. It likewise becomes clear from 
the foregoing life-history, that the crabs, 
in respect of the modification and dis- 
appearance of their tail, are a later and 
higher race than the lobsters, shrimps, 
and prawns. And geology confirms this 
fig. 26. mvsis. surmise, inasmuch as the lobster-races were 

developed ages before the crabs. Fossil kith and kin of the lobsters 
occur very early in the stratified rocks, the crabs being late productions ; 
so that the idea of the crabs having originated from a tailed Zoea-like 
or lobster-like race is fully supported by the best of evidence. 

The concluding life-histories which may be glanced at, by way of 
summarising the ways of the crustacean evolution, are those of the 
My sis or opossum-shrimps (Fig. 26), and a peculiar genus of prawns 
known as Pcnaus ( Fig. 27). The first-mentioned animals are common 
in the lakes of modern Europe and of North America, and also flourish 
in the Arctic Seas. It is a warrantable inference that the Mysis 
rtlicta of the lakes is simply a variety of the Mysis oculata of the 
Arctic Seas, which has been shut off from a former marine existence 
by the conversion of the Baltic fjords or firths into lakes ; geological 
changes thus inducing alteration iir animal species, and " a primi- 
tively marine animal " thus becoming " completely adapted to fresh- 
water life." These opossum-shrimps are so called because the young 
are carried during development in special sacs or pouches of the parent 
form. They present in their early history a very interesting connection 
between the marked change of form in lower crustaceans, and that 
direct development of the higher forms of which the crayfish is so 
well-marked an example. Within the egg Afysss, like the crab, passes 
through a Nauplius-stage. Thereafter, however, it grows rapidly; and 
a remarkable circumstance has to be chronicled, namely, that the 




Some Animal Biographies and their. Lessons. 185 

original skin or integument remains unaltered, and is not moulted 
or otherwise made to participate in the succeeding growth of the 
body. In this feature, as Huxley remarks, the young opossum- 
shrimp might be justly compared to the pupa or chrysalis of an 
insect, since it lies, like the latter, within an enveloping skin from 
which, in due course, the young shrimp emerges. Here, then, the 
Nauplius -stage is represented as a fleeting period in development ; 
and we see in the Mysis, when full grown, a being which has no gills, 
which possesses a large tail 
or abdomen, and a small body 
(or head and chest), and which 
has but rudimentary appen- 
dages to its tail. Notwithstand- 
ing the fact that the develop- 
ment of the Mysis is well-nigh 
direct, we must not neglect to 
note the important facts, firstly, 
that one of its nearest relations 
(Euphausia) actually leaves the 
egg as a true Nauplius ; and secondly, that the form and figure of the 
adult Mysis itself is perfectly reproduced in the development of the 
crustaceans of higher type. 

Thus in the lobster, which so nearly resembles the crayfish in 
its direct development (Fig. 14), and in] its imperfectly represented 
" Nauplius- stage," the young form (named the Zoea from its 
analogies to the youthful stage (Fig 35, a) of the crabs), passes 
through a Mysis-stage, but thereafter develops into the mature 
lobster, with well-developed tail-appendages and " head." The idea 
that in the adult Mysis we may see 
represented a transitory phase in the 
evolution of such higher forms as 
the lobster and crayfish, is a justifi- 
able assumption ; and it is one, 
moreover, which appears to be fully 
proved by the study of the life- 
history of that division of the prawn 
tribe which includes the species of 
Ptnaus (Fig. 37) as its representa- 
tives. The prawns, as every one 
knows, are intimately associated 
with the lobsters, shrimps, and Fio. a. KAcmci op Fik^ui. 
crayfish as higher Crustacea. Vet the first appearance of Penatus is 




1 86 



The Gentleman's Magazine, 



not, as in the crayfish, as a well-nigh perfectly-formed animal, nor ( 
as in the lobster (Fig. 24), as a Zoiia, somewhat like the adult ; nor 
yet, as in the crab, as a Zoea (Fig. 25 a), widely different from the 
mature form. On the contrary, the youngest stage of Penaeus is a 
veritable " Nauplius " (Fig. 2&), with three pairs of appendages, and a 
single median eye, accurately reproducing the features now familiar to 
' us in the Barnacle (Fig. 14), Sacculina 
(Fig. 16), and lower crustacean life 
(Fig. 18, b) at large. Next in order, 
this Nauplius develops a rounded 
body-shield (or carapace); the first 
and second pairs of appendages be- 
coming the two pairs of feelers proper 
to all crustaceans, whilst the third pair 
becomes the chief jaws or " mandibles.' 1 
Next are developed four pairs of feet, 
converted in due time into jaws and 
foot-jaws ; and then appear behind 
these other five pairs of appendages 
which become the ten walking feet 
The six joints of the tail have as yet 
no appendages, but the tail itself ends 
fis. i 9 . zoiAor PEs-.ns. in two tufted processes, and we see the 
Zoea-form (Fig. 29) thus limned out ; whilst no less remarkable is the 
resemblance of the young prawn at this stage to an adult Cyclops (Fig. 
1 1, a) water-flea. Two stalked eyes, in addition to the single eye of 
the Nauplius, appear in the Zoea-form, which alters and changes 
through the decrease of the feelers, till now used for swimming. The 
lail increases in sue and replaces the feelers in function ; and the 
feelers, each at first double, become single -jointed organs. The five 
feet of the chest-region are each provided with two terminal joints, 
and the Zoea becomes thus modelled (Fig. 30) into the exact form 
of a Mysis or opossum- shrimp (Fig. 26). Finally, the single and 
median eye disappears, the outermost of the two end joints of each 
of the chest-limbs disappears, leaving these walking legs (seen so 
plainly in shrimp, prawn, crab, and lobster) of single conformation ; 
gills arc developed within the chest, sense-organs appear, and the full 
development of the prawn (Fig. 27) is then completed. Throughout 
these varied stages it is not difficult to trace a panoramic succes- 
sion of furms accurately reproducing the existing degrees and 'forms 
of the crustacean class. The early Nauplius (Fig. 28), the zoea or 
water-flea stage (Fig. 29), the fflysis-fonn (30), each produced w 




Some Animal Biographies and their Lessens. 187 

definite and advancing succession, present us with a perfect picture 
of die evolution of the prawn-race from lower crustacean life, and, 
presumably also, of the evolution of all other crustaceans belonging 
to the same rank and series in the class. 

In summarising the results to which a study 
of the development of the echinoderms and 
crustaceans leads, there is to be «tcognised the 
operation of the principles already more than once 
insisted upon in the preceding pages, namely, 
that community of descent is provable by likeness 
in development, just as differences or obliterations 
and alterations in development are explicable 
on the grounds of adaptation and change acting 
concurrently with the evolution and progress of 
the race. Oily by taking into account these 
two principles can the hard ways of develop- 
ment be understood. The present subject is 
one which may be regarded as lying thoroughly 
without the province and power of any explana- 
tion not founded upon evolution and upon the 
idea that progressive change is part and parcel 
of the order of nature. And, admitting that the 
only feasible explanation of these curious phases 
of 'development is to be found in such an idea 
of nature's constitution, it seems folly to deny Tia _ 

that the general weight of evidence in favour of "vsis-hag* or p«n.«i». 
descent more than counterbalances any difficulties which may present 
themselves in connection with the exact determination of the lines 
along which that descent has travelled. That larval or young forms 
are themselves liable to modification from various circumstances must 
be admitted. This variation (seen in the insect-class) of the young 
form, which we regard as representing the primitive stock of the 
class, must unquestionably complicate the study of evolution and 
add to the difficulties' af constructing a perfect pedigree of the living 
world. The Pluteus larva of a sea-urchin and the Bipinnaria larva 
of a starfish, thus differ in respect that the former possesses a limy 
framework which is wanting in the latter. But such distinctions do not 
in the least degree militate against the primary fact underlying all 
such developments, namely, that the likenesses, not merely of young 
forms, but in adult structure, are explicable only on the theory of a 
common origin. Indeed, with the best of reason and logic, it may 
be argued that, as a condition of evolution, we postulate the 




1 88 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

occurrence of variations in the young stages as well as in the adult 
form— just as we should legitimately expect to find in living horses 
the rudiments of those toes which the ancestors of the existing equine 
race possessed. Thus " direct" development, such as we have seen 
to occur in some starfishes and sea-cucumbers, whereby the young 
pass directly into the form of the adult, and wherein the changes of 
structure and appearance are suppressed, is a result of the adapta- 
tion of the larvae to new ways of life. ' Rejecting this view, we should 
have to fall back upon the anomalous position of maintaining that 
there existed for one echinoderm a law of special creation, and for 
another a law of descent — a supposition which no logical mind will 
accept, and which the grander idea of the uniformity of nature at once 
dispels. As a final remark in connection with the sea-urchin class 
and its transformations, we may add that the changes in form are 
themselves progressive in nature. The five existing groups of this 
class (sea-urchins, starfishes, sand-stars, sea-lilies, and sea-cucumbers) 
are unquestionably modifications of a common plan of structure, and 
they originate from a larva which is wonderfully similar throughout, 
if we consider the diversities of adult structure which arise therefrom. 
Further, if this larva were to be arrested in its development and to 
represent a mature form in such an arrested stage, it would present a 
striking resemblance to some of the lower worms and their allies; this 
fact alone pointing to the probable beginnings of the sea-urchin class 
in a worm-stock. No less clearly do we see in the varying degrees 
of organisation exhibited by adult echinoderms, the same proof of 
progressive advance and modification of an originally primitive type. 
The forces and powers which, before our waking eyes to-day, evolve 
a sea-urchin from its egg and easel-like larva, or a starfish from its 
bipinnaria, are, if we will only consider the wonderful nature of the 
transformations involved, engaged in as evident and intricate a work 
of evolution as those which have developed the varied twigs and 
branches of the Echinoderm tree in the aeons of the past. 

The foregoing conclusions find, perhaps, plainer illustration in the 
history of the crustacean class, wherein exists a uniformity not so clearly 
traceable — although its original existence may not be doubted — in the 
early life of the echinoderms. The highest members of die Crustacea 
are, as we have noted, the lobsters, cray-fishes, shrimps, crabs, and 
their allies. We have seen that in the crayfish a " Nauplius "-stage is 
represented; that in the lobster a Zoea-phase is seen; that Mysis 
likewise exhibits a Nauplius, and then settles down as a peculiar 
form ; that in the crab's early history, a still better marked Zoea 
appears ; and finally, that th$ shrimp Pen&us actually passe* through 



Some Animal Biographies and thei? Lessons. 1 89 

a Nauplius phase, a Zoea or water-flea stage, a Mysis form, and finally 
assumes the likeness of the shrimp tribe. The history of Penaeus, 
therefore, is an abridged treatise of the evolution of all higher 
Crustacea : its development, to parody Pope's line, is " not one, but 
all Crustaceans' epitome." And as perfectly are the facts of lower 
crustacean life correlated with those of the higher development of 
the class. A water-flea, like Cyclops, as an adult, matures its 
development and ceases to progress at a stage corresponding to 
that at which Penaeus has but attained its youth. The barnacles 
and sacculinas exhibit the influence of conditions of parasitism 
acting at a definite stage in the course of ordinary development, and 
producing the degraded and attached form of the adults. Mysis 
advances so far on the way towards the lobster and crayfish type, 
but stops short in its development at a point represented in lobster 
history, and beyond which the lobster itself passes as we have seen. 
Finally, beyond all such stages, and underlying all the variations 
and obscurities even of the higher and most modified life-histories, 
we see the Nauplius-form continually appearing as the starting-point 
of all crustacean history; or as that point, to use Fritz Midler's 
expression, which represents the "extreme outpost of the class, 
retiring furthest into the grey mist of primitive time." The Nauplius 
appears before us, then, as the founder of the crustacean race. The 
Zoea is a modification and advance upon the Nauplius ; and from 
this Zoea (as proved by Penaeus- development) was evolved the 
higher crustaceans at large. The lobsters and their allies (again 
appealing to Penaeus) were evolved from the Zoea-form through an 
intermediate stage represented to-day by the Mysis or opossum- 
shrimp ; whilst the short-tailed crabs, in all probability, arose directly 
from the zoea, without the intervention of a Mysis-stage, seeing that 
in their development they exhibit a distinct Zoea-stage, and do not 
pass through a Mysis-stage like the lobsters and their long-tailed 
neighbours. 

Diagrammatically expressed, we may see in the history of crusta- 
ceans that tree-like arrangement of their pedigree which best 
illustrates the deductions of evolution. The Nauplius exists at the 
root of the class. Developed in direct line, we find Penaeus passing 
through the Zoea and Mysis-stages. The lobster branch diverges 
after the Mysis-stage has been attained, and the crabs depart from 
the main stem before the latter phase. The crayfish, with its 
obliterated Nauplius-stage, may be presumed to have followed the 
course of development resembling that of the lobster ; its history, 
hewever, being singular in respect of the obliteration of the inter- 



r$o 



The GeniUmatis MagazUU. 



mediate stages. The king-crabs have presumably originated in the 
common Nauplius-form, and have passed through the Trilobite-form, 
now extinct, to their present positiort at the extremity of an isolated 
branch of the crustacean tree; whilst th*- barnacles, fish-lice, and 
water- fleas, obviously nearly allied, spring from a distinct Nauplius- 
stem,but diverge through different ways and paths of life— the former 
to exist mostly as degraded parasites, and the latter to develop into 
active free-swimming forms. Thus becomes clear to us the meaning 



Penscuu(fig. 37). 



Mysis— 
(tig*. 26 
and 30). 



Zoea- 
(tigt- 35 and 29) 



King-cral.s(fig, 19). 



Trilobites 
(fig. 20) - 
extinct, 





Lobster (fig. 34). 



CrayfiJi. 



— Crab* (fig. xo> 



Water-fleas (fig. it),- 



McS3& } ^graded l( ^^ 
Fish-lice, &c. J U 



Ciumccan* / 13, *Q 



Kauplius (fig*. 14, iC, 17, 18, 28). 



of those singular changes in animal forms which puzzled the Older 
naturalists. To question the meaning which evolution Attaches 'to 
them is to leave them without explanation or meaning; Oufkhow- 
ledge of the full evolution of the Crustacea or any othef attfmaT 
group, as already remarked, may be, and often is, far from perfect. 
We are, it is true, still in the "grey mists" of many biological 
subjects, and the pedigree of animals, amongst others/ fa still 
enveloped in much obscurity; but, at the same time, we can' detect 
breaking through the mist, gleams of knowledge— bright forttfurihfcrs 
of that flood of light which the research of after-years will assuredly 
bring. 

ANDREW WILSOK. 



t*t 



MRS. CANDOUR. 

GARRICK at one time busied himself about an Infant School of 
Actors ; children from their earliest years were to be trained 
to the service of the stage, specially instructed in histrionic art and 
the accomplishments necessary to theatrical success. The plan 
made some progress, if it was unattended by important results. In 
December, 1756, Garrick produced at Drury Lane his farce of 
" Liliput," founded upon the first book of " Gulliver's Travels." " The 
piece was acted by boys and girls all tutored by the manager, and 
the parents of not less than a hundred were most liberally rewarded." 
Murphy adds that the author had further a moral object in view ; 
he hoped that " at the sight of such diminutive creatures adopting 
the follies of real life, the fashionable world would learn to lower 
their pride, and the dignity of vice would be lost." It is not to be 
believed, however, that Garrick laid much stress upon the didactic 
quality of the production. "Liliput" was excellently represented 
by the children and was frequently repeated. And two of the young 
performers — and but two— became afterwards known to fame, and took 
rank among the mature members of the company. A character called 
Lord Flimnap was personated by a Master Cautherley — a son of 
Garrick's, so people whispered — who acquired some favour at a later 
date as a hero of domestic tragedy, playing George Barnwell and like 
parts, and obtaining from his fellows the designation of " the Gentle 
Cautherley," which, perhaps, does not say much for his force as an 
actor. And a character called Lalcon, " Gulliver's keeper," was 
admirably sustained by a Miss Pope, a little girl of twelve or so, 
whose career upon the stage, commenced thus early, did not terminate 
until the year 1808. In 1761 Churchill "was applauding her still 
girlish efforts : 

With all the native vigour of sixteen, 

Among the merry group conspicuous seen, 

See lively Por-E advance in jig and trip, 

'Corinna, Cherry, Honeycorabe, and Snip. 

Not without art, but yet to nature true, 

She charmed the town with humour just, yet new. 

Cheered by her promise, we the less deplore 

The fatal time when Clive shall be no mote. 



192 The Gentleman* s Magazine. 

Miss Pope was the original representative of Sheridan's Mrs. 
Candour in i 777, and of his Tilburina in 1779. Charles Lamb wrote 
of " charming natural Miss Pope, the perfect gentlewoman as distin- 
guished from the fine lady of comedy; " referred to " Churchill's com- 
pliments still burnishing upon her gay Honeycombe lips ; " and dwelt 
upon " the true scenic delight, the escape from life, the oblivion of 
the consequences, the holiday barring-out of the pedant Reflection, 
those Saturnalia of two or three brief hours well won from the world," 
afforded by the performance of " The School for Scandal " in its best 
days. Hazlitt remembered her as " the very picture of a Duenna, a 
maiden lady or antiquated dowager .... more quaint, fantastic, and 
old-fashioned, more pert, frothy, and light-headed, than anything that 
can be imagined." And only a year before her retirement from the scene 
Leigh Hunt described Miss Pope as " the only natural performer of 
the old gentlewoman .... in true comic humour, and in tempe- 
rate, unaffected nature, yielding to no actress upon the stage." 

Jane Pope was the daughter of a respectable tradesman who 
carried on his business in Great Russell Street, Covent Garden.' 
Apparently she obtained her only theatrical education in Garrick's 
Infant School ; she served no apprenticeship in the provinces, she 
never strolled to learn her art, gather confidence and experience ; but 
within a very few seasons of her first essay as a child in " Liliput " 
she was enrolled as a permanent member of Garrick's company, 
charged with the duty of impersonating pert hoydens and saucy 
chambermaids. When in 1859 Vanbrugh's " Confederacy ,r was 
revived, the performance was sufficiently remarkable. The playbill 
announced that the parts of Brass, Dick, Moneytrap, Clarissa, and 
Flippanta would be sustained by King, Palmer, Yates, Mrs. Pritchard, 
and Mrs. Clive ; that Tate Wilkinson would attempt the character of 
Mr. Amlet ; and that, as Corinna, " a young gentlewoman n would 
appear for the first time. The young gentlewoman was Miss Pope, 
whose success was very great. Mrs. Clive, indeed, thought it well to 
warn the beginner that the hearty applause she had received was not 
wholly due to her merits, but arose in some part from the good nature 
of the audience. "You acted very well," said the actress of ex- 
perience ; " but in future you must endeavour to act better, and to 
be content with less applause, otherwise disappointment will be in 
store for you ; be prepared for the capriciousness of the public ; do 
not allow it to damp your spirits, or you will fail to do yourself 
justice." These sage counsels of the veteran were listened to patiently 
and gratefully by the recruit ; Mrs. Clive and Miss Pope became 
firm friends. Dolly Snip, in " Harlequin's Invasion," described in the 



Mrs. Candour* 193 

playbills as "A Christmas gambol in the manner of the Italian 
comedy," and presented after a performance of" George Barnwell," 
was the next part allotted to the young actress — who, as all agreed, 
acquitted herself admirably. This pantomime was contrived by 
Garrick, who found his materials in an older work produced at the 
Goodman's Fields theatre in 1 741, where Garrick himself is alleged 
to have worn once or twice a harlequin's patchwork jacket Harle- 
quin is supposed to invade Parnassus and the kingdom of Shakespeare, 
to be expelled thence at last, however, with all his " fantastic train." 
The characters were not mute, but conversed freely ; King, for the 
first time, playing harlequin, and Yates appearing as Snip, a tailor. 
The success of this entertainment led to its frequent revival. Even 
as late as 1820 " Harlequin's Invasion" was presented at Drury Lane, 
when Miss Pope's character of Dolly Snip was undertaken by 
Madame Vestris. 

During the season of 1759-60 Miss Pope also appeared as Miss 
Biddy in Garrick's ;< Miss in her Teens," as Miss Prue in " Love for 
Love," as Miss Notable in Gibber's " Lady's Last Stake," and as 
Jenny in " The Provoked Husband." In the following season she 
played Cherry in " The Beaux' Stratagem," and was entrusted with 
an original character which she rendered specially famous — the 
heroine ofColman's farce of "Polly Honeycombe." The author 
aimed at satirising the readers of modern novels as distinguished from 
the old-fashioned romances, the prologue setting forth : 

But now the dear delight of later years, 

The younger sister of Romance appears ; 

Less solemn is her air, her drift the same, 

And Novel her enchanting, charming name. 

Romance might strike our grave forefathers* pomp, 

But Novel for our buck and lively romp ! 

Cassandra's folios now no longer read, 

See two neat pocket-volumes in their stead ; 

And then so sentimental is the style ! 

So chaste, yet so bewitching all the while, &c. 

Polly Honeycombe is nearly related to Biddy Tipkin on the one 
hand and to Lydia Languish on the other. Indeed, Sheridan's 
comedy owes something to Colman's farce. Honeycombe's conclud- 
ing speech — "A man may as well turn his daughter loose in 
Covent Garden as trust the cultivation of her mind to a circulating 
library " — probably inspired Sir Anthony Absolute's animadversion 
on the same subject " Polly Honeycombe " became one of the 
most popular of afterpieces, and was always assured of a hearty 
reception so long as Miss Pope was willing to appear as the heroine, 

vol. ccl. no. 1802. o 



194 3Tfo Ge7itlemaris Magazine. 

But more ambitious occupation awaited her. Retaining her hold 
upon the romps and Abigails, she now appeared as certain of the 
fine ladies of the theatre, personating Lady Flutter in Mrs. Sheridan's 
new comedy " The Discovery," the widow Belmont in " The Way to 
Keep Him," and Araminta in Whitehead's " School for Lovers." 
When Garrick in 1765 made his first appearance after his return 
from the Continent, and " Much Ado about Nothing " was performed 
by royal command, it was to Miss Pope that the character of 
Beatrice was assigned, complete success attending her efforts. She 
undertook few other Shakespearian parts ; but she long continued to 
be a famous Audrey, and she appeared from time to time as Lucetta 
in the " Two Gentlemen of Verona," as Mrs. Page and as Katharine 
in the farce to which Garrick had reduced " The Taming of the 
Shrew." Into the tragic repertory or anywhere near it she never 
ventured; but the excellence of her acting was thought to com- 
pensate for her imperfect singing when she attempted a musical 
character, and represented Lucy in " The Beggar's Opera." 

Her list of parts was greatly extended upon the retirement of 
Mrs. Clive in 1769. Churchill's prediction was verified : the loss of 
that actress was less deplored in view of the admirable art, the 
abundant humour, of Miss Pope. She now played Flippanta instead 
of Corinna in " The Confederacy," Mrs. Frail instead of Miss Prue 
in " Love for Love," and was greatly applauded even in the most 
popular of Mrs. Clive's characters, such as Nell in the old farce of 
" The Devil to Pay," and Kitty in " High Life Below Stairs." She 
was advancing from the hoydens, the chambermaids, and fine ladies 
to the more mature gentlewomen of the drama. She appeared now 
as Mrs. Oakley in " The Jealous Wife," now as Lady Brumpton in 
" The Funeral," now as Mrs. Doggrel in " The Register Office," and 
now as Mrs. Sneak in " The Mayor of Garratt." In 1775 the term 
of her engagement with Garrick expired. She expressed a desire for 
its renewal with an increase of salary, " throwing herself upon Mr. 
Garrick's or the proprietors' generosity to name what addition to her 
appointment they might think her diligence deserved." Garrick in 
the name of the patentees acknowledged " not only her diligence but 
her merit," expressed a hope that she would continue for many years 
to come a member of the Drury Lane Company, but disregarded 
altogether her application for an increase of salary. The lady evi- 
dently felt herself much aggrieved, and wrote back in very tart terms. 
She presented her respects to the patentees; she was much honoured 
in their commendations both as to her merit and her diligence. For 
% the former she had been infinitely overpaid by the public, "who liad 



Mrs. Candour. 195 

ever shown her the greatest favour without a paragraph to prejudice 
them." Her diligence concerned the managers ; she looked to them 
to reward it She demanded ten pounds per week, " the sum usually 
paid to actresses in her walk." She could not upon any other terms 
remain at Drury Lane. If the patentees objected, though she 
should quit the theatre with infinite regret, she was " determined to 
shake all affection off, and, like the Swiss, to perform only with 
those that pay best" The patentees, in reply, while expressing 
regret at losing Miss Pope, declined to increase her salary \ they 
wished her " every happiness that her change of place and sentiments 
could give her \ " Garrick, on his own account, professing that he had 
shown " a little more than Sw& s attachment to Miss Pope." It was 
clear that Garrick was much offended ; the allusion to the press — 
the hint as to the creation of prejudice by means of paragraphs — 
was particularly disagreeable to him; but with other members of 
the company Miss Pope believed that the manager, who was a share- 
holder in certain journals, employed his interest with the newspapers 
in conducting his theatre and controlling his players. Miss Pope 
quitted Drury Lane, but sought in vain occupation at Covent 
Garden. She soon perceived that she had acted rashly and hastily ; 
she longed to be back again in Garrick's theatre. Three months 
later she wrote to him, frankly acknowledging her error, and humbly 
imploring him to forgive her and to be still her friend. " I have no 
resource," she wrote, " but going to Ireland, which, though it prove 
advantageous, must render me miserable, as it separates me from my 
family, with whom I have ever lived in the most perfect affection. 
You will have the goodness to remember that this is the first dis- 
agreement we ever had in the course of fourteen years, and you will 
the readier pardon it when you consider that a little vanity is almost 
inseparable from our profession, and that I unfortunately listened to 
its dictates and have made myself unhappy." Garrick was obdurate, 
however \ he was steeled against the poor lady's touching appeal 
He had made other arrangements ; he had prepared for her loss, 
distributed her parts among the other actresses ; he could offer her 
no re-engagement, &c. She went to Ireland, therefore, writing to 
him in the following year a sympathetic letter on his retirement from 
the stage. She acknowledged the service he had rendered it ; she 
could not be charged with flattery, she said, as every interested view 
was at an end between them from his having relinquished the theatre. 
She concluded ; "I am not sorry this was my year of banishment, 
since it would have given me much greater pain to be present ; and 

though small was the fault which caused our separation, and severe 

02 



196 The Gentleman s M&gazine. 

the penalty, yet believe me, you never had a sincerer votary." Could 
he resist this homage ? He had retired from the active exercise of 
his profession, but he remained one of the patentees of Drury Lane 
Theatre. Already the staunch Mrs. Clive had addressed him on 
behalf of her " poor unfortunate friend Miss Pope," with a view to 
her re-engagement at Drury Lane. " By this time I hope you have 
forgotten your resentment," she wrote ; and she proceeded to remind 
him that Miss Pope had been a faithful creature, on whom he could 
always depend, certainly a good actress, amiable in her character, 
" both in her being a very modest woman and very good to her 
family, and to my certain knowledge has the greatest regard for you." 
She concluded : " Now, my dear Mr. Garrick, I hope it is not yet 
too late to reinstate her before you quit your affairs ; I beg it, I 
entreat it, I shall look upon it as the greatest favour you can confer 
on your ever obliged friend, C. Clive." 

At length Garrick yielded. Mrs. Clive's appeal was not to be 
resisted, or he was roused to a more complete sense of the value of 
Miss Pope's services. Personally he owed her much. Not only had 
she played Beatrice to his Benedick, and Cherry to his Archer ; she 
had sustained characters in several of his own plays, and greatly con- 
tributed to their success. She was re-engaged upon her own terms. 
She had formerly received eight pounds per week only; she was now 
accorded ten pounds. It was not a particularly liberal salary, even for 
those days. The whole quarrel had arisen upon a question as to an 
extra forty shillings per week for an excellent actress and a great 
public favourite ! Without doubt, Garrick had been needlessly 
despotic in dealing with the lady. 

Miss Pope had now grown somewhat portly of form, as her critics 
soon began to remind her ; for the critics of the last century, from 
Churchill downwards, were quick to discover and denounce the per- 
sonal defects and physical infirmities of the players. Hugh Kelly, 
in his scurrilous poem " Thespis," published in 1766, wrote of— 

That shapeless form to grace so unallied, 
That roaring laugh and manliness of stride, 

and referred to Miss Pope's too hearty enjoyment of " scenes of 
turbulence and noise." A later satirist, in 1772, describing the 
actress as " Ten years ago a sprightly lass," demanded, " But will 
increase of flesh now let her pass?" But if she sometimes assumed 
characters for which her proportions and aspect unsuited her, it 
was always at the request of her manager, and generally with the 
consent of her public. In 1 7 7 7 the part of Mrs. Candour was allotted 



Mrs. Candour. 197 

her. James Smith, one of the authors of " Rejected Addresses/' has 
suggested that if " The School for Scandal " had been brought to the 
theatre by " some starved hackney sonneteer/' Parsons would not 
have acted Crabtree, and Dodd would have been fined rather than 
perform Backbite. " I even doubt/' he continues, "whether Baddeley 
would have taken to the Jew, and Miss Pope would have unques- 
tionably demurred about Mrs. Candour. Not that those parts are 
bad in themselves, but there is too great an interval between the first 
and last appearance of the scandalous club. They get out of sight, 
and consequently out of the mind of the audience. Moreover — an 
inexpiable sin in the perception of a player — there are better parts 
in the play." But the author was also the manager, and his com- 
pany could scarcely decline to support the comedy : a cast of great 
strength resulted. Miss Pope's success as Mrs. Candour was most 
decided. In certain theatrical circles the actress soon acquired the 
private alias of " Mrs. Candour," because she had been the first to 
play that part, and also because of her readiness to undertake the 
defence of any one who chanced to be attacked. At the same time 
James Smith wrote : " Not a particle of wrong or sarcasm was mingled 
with her encomiums. I never heard her speak ill of any human 

being I have sometimes been almost exasperated by her 

benevolence. In cases of the most open delinquency, I could never 
entice her into indignation. ' I adore my profession/ I have heard 
her say more than once." And she would tolerate no censure of any 
of its members. 

She was a little quick of temper, however, as her correspondence 
with Garrick demonstrated ; and in his Reminiscences Michael Kelly 
has narrated how upon a particular occasion the lady stormed and 
raged and vowed vengeance against him ! There had been a revival, 
it seems, of Shakespeare's " Jubilee," originally devised by Garrick ; 
an absurd sort of pageant with personifications of the Tragic and 
the Comic Muse — Mrs. Siddons and Miss Farren assumed these 
characters in 1 787 — and a grand procession of the Shakespearian 
characters appropriately costumed and sundry of them wearing masks. 
In this production Miss Pope was accustomed to appear as Beatrice, 
with Kelly — who was more a singer than an actor — as her Benedick. 
They entered and walked or rather danced across the stage, by way 
of representing the comedy of " Much Ado about Nothing," and of 
paying homage to Shakespeare, and were rewarded with the cordial 
applause of the spectators. But one night, as Kelly writes, the 
comedian Moody " came to me and requested I would lend my 
domino and mask to a friend of his who wished to see the audience 



49$ The Genikm&t's M(^azim. 

from the stage, and who would do exactly as I did, having frequently 
seen me and Miss Pope. On he went, but appeared instantly planet- 
struck and stood perfectly still ; nor did he move until pushed off. 
The rage and disappointment of Miss Pope, who was an excellent 
dancer, and I not a very bad one, at not receiving the applause 
which she had always brought, was very great" It was with difficulty 
the wrath of the actress could be appeased. Kelly addressed her a 
humble letter of apology, and she was persuaded at length to write 
him a friendly answer, admonishing him to be careful how he yielded a 
second time to bad advice; " and to the day of her death," concludes 
Kelly, " she was kindly attentive to me, but she never forgave Moody 
at whose instance I had transgressed." 

Miss Pope's repertory of parts was most extensive. In her period 
the " standard comedies," known only by name to our modern 
playgoers, still retained possession of the stage, and the time had not 
yet come for Charles Lamb's lament that Congreve and Farquhar 
showed their heads once in seven years or so only to be exploded 
and put down instantly. Audiences were still tolerant of the licence, 
the levity, the dissoluteness, which helped so largely to constitute 
Lamb's dearly loved " artificial comedy," if here and there might be 
discovered critics beginning to think that the wit and humour of the 
old plays was surely insufficient to keep them sweet much longer, and 
that after all it did matter a little " whether Sir Simon or Dapperwit 
stole away Miss Martha, or who was the father of Lord Froth's or Sir 
Paul Pliant's children." Miss Pope appeared from time to time as 
Foible in " The Way of the World ; " as Edging in " The Careless 
Husband ; " as Lady Lurewell in " The Constant Couple ; " as Mrs. 
Clermont in "The Tender Husband;" as Clarinda in "The 
Suspicious Husband ; " as Olivia in " The Plain Dealer ; " as Patch 
in " The Busybody ; " as Phaedra in " Amphitryon ; " now as Lady 
Dainty and now as Lady Froth in " The Double Dealer ; " as Lady 
Dove in " The Brothers," and Mrs. Racket in " The Belle's Stratagem," 
&c. &c. 

In 1779 Miss Pope was to be received with uproarious applause 
when she trod the stage the first representative of Tilburina in " The 
Critic." She caricatured the conventional heroine of high-flown 
tragedy, and, trailing her long skirts of white satin about the stage, 
duly went stark mad amid the heartiest laughter of the audience. 
Puff was amply justified in demanding, " Do you ever desire to see 
anybody madder than that?" She further served Sheridan by 
appearing in his other plays ; now as Lucy in " The Rivals," now as 
. Mrs. Malaprop, and now as the Duenna; but she was not^df 



Mrs. Candour. 199 

the original representative of those characters. Upon the first 
production of" The Clandestine Marriage " in 1766, she had appeared 
as Miss Sterling, and she remained for many years in possession of 
the part ; but in 1802, by express command of George III., who 
greatly delighted in her acting, Miss Pope for the first time personated 
Mrs. Heidelberg. The comedy had soon to be withdrawn, however, 
for King, the original Lord Ogleby, was retiring from the stage, and a 
competent substitute for him could not be found. In 1796, in support 
of Charles Kemble's " George Barnwell," Miss Pope accepted the 
inferior part of Lucy, with an understanding that the great Mrs. 
Siddons would also condescend upon the occasion and undertake 
the character of Milwood. In 1805 Miss Pope played Mrs. Candour, 
to find herself the last survivor of the original cast All her old 
playfellows had departed ; the time for her own leave-taking drew 
near. In 1807 Leigh Hunt noted that her "powers of voice and of 
action " were weakening, although her sense of humour remained as 
strong as ever, and she was still able to entertain highly, because of 
the soundness of her histrionic method. The stage was as her own 
apartment, her bearing was so easy and natural, she indulged in no 
excess of action, she never seemed to address herself particularly to 
the spectators, her manner was emphatic but without exaggeration, and 
she was especially commended for the skilful management of her 
voice. This was said to be peculiarly observable in her Mrs. Candour, 
"where her affected sentiments are so inimitably hidden by the 
natural tones of her voice that it is no wonder that her scandal 
carries perfect conviction to everybody around her." In 1806 she 
appeared for one night only as Lady Minikin in Garrick's farce of 
" Bon Ton," a part she had first undertaken in 1775. In the following 
year she was seen for the last time upon the stage. " The Heir-at- 
Law " was presented for her benefit; she played Deborah Dowlas, and 
she personated her old character of Audrey in delivering her farewell 
address. 

Her friends lamented her decision to undertake so poor and 
unsuitable a part as Deborah Dowlas on the occasion of her last 
benefit. She had not before assumed the character ; it was altogether 
new to her. Did ever actress before, it was asked, learn a new part 
for her last appearance on the stage ? Moreover, she had to accom- 
plish the arduous task of saying good-bye to a public she had known 
so long and served so faithfully. She consulted her friend James 
Smith as to the dress she should wear as Deborah. He advised 
black bombazeen. It had been usual to dress the character very 
showily indeed, with a sort of vulgar splendour. But Smith declared 



aoo The Gentleman's Magazine. 

that all the dramatis persona should properly be clad in suits of sable. 
The Dowlases would all be in mourning as relatives of the deceased 
Lord Duberly. As his son, Henry More land would also wear black ; 
while Steadfast, a friend of the family, would assume complimentary 
mourning. Custom would require Doctor Pangloss, LL.D. and A.S.S., 
to be attired in black Miss Caroline Dormer, having lost her father, 
and Cicely and Zekiel Homespun being in like plight, would all 
three be in mourning ; while Kendrick, Miss Dormer's Irish servant, 
would probably don a black coat by way of showing sympathy with 
his mistress's distress. Miss Pope was not convinced, however, by 
this statement, and resolved to dress Deborah after the fashion 
adopted by her predecessors in the part The farewell address, 
delivered in the character of Audrey, was written in verse. One 
line of it only — " And now poor Audrey bids you all farewell " — 
seems to have survived. Long afterwards James Smith found it 
dwelling in his memory. 

Miss Pope lived many years — forty, it is said — on the south side 
of Great Queen Street, within two doors of the Freemasons' Tavern. 
On summer evenings, when the windows were open, the clattering of 
knives and forks and the jingling of glasses greatly disturbed the 
serenity of Miss Pope's back drawing-room — especially when, as 
James Smith suggested, the toast of " Prosperity to the Deaf and 
Dumb Charity" was duly honoured at the Freemasons'. Old- 
fashioned portraits adorned the walls : here was seen the face of the 
beautiful Mrs. Oldfield, the actress ; here was pictured a corpulent 
gentleman in a pearl-coloured suit, with a laced cocked hat under his 
arm : Holland, the actor, denounced by Churchill as a mere imitator 
of Garrick — " I hate e'en Garrick second-hand." When, in her old 
age — a sexagenarian, unwieldy of figure, and endowed with ample 
" duplicity of chin " — Miss Pope grew garrulous, she was prone to 
descant upon the one romance of her life, the explanation of her 
celibacy ; she told the story of her early love and disappointment. 
" Mr. Holland and myself," she would say, " were mutually attached. 
I had reason to expect that he would make me an offer of his 
hand. Mr. Garrick warned me of his levities and his gallantries, but 
I had read that reformed rakes made the best husbands, and I hoped 
I should find it so. One day I went to visit Mrs. Give in the 
Richmond coach, which stopped to bait at Mortlake, when whom 
should I see pass me rapidly in a post-chaise but Mr. Holland in 
company with a lady ! I felt a pang of jealousy which kept me 
silent the rest of the journey. I left the coach at the King's Head, 
near the present bridge, and with ipy little wicker-basket in my hand 



Mrs. Candour. 201 

I set off to walk along Twickenham meadows to Strawberry Hill. 
When I came opposite the Eel-pie Island I saw the same parties in 
a boat together, and I then discovered that Mr. Holland's companion 
was the notorious Mrs. Baddeley. He looked confused when he 
saw me and tried to row across to the Richmond side, but the weeds 
prevented him. I met him on the Tuesday morning following at a 
rehearsal. He had done wrong, and he knew it, but he assumed an 
air of hauteur. I was as proud as he, and from that time we never 
exchanged a word. He afterwards made love to this, that, and 
t'other woman, but I have reason to know that he never was really 
happy." Her tears fell as she told her story, though it dealt with 
events that were forty years old. Holland died of small-pox at the 
early age of thirty-six, so far back as 1769; a tablet to his memory, 
with an inscription by Garrick, being placed in the chancel of 
Ch is wick Church. 

At Mrs. Clive's Twickenham cottage — " Little Strawberry Hill," 
or " Clive-den," as Horace Walpole was wont to style it — Miss Pope 
was a frequent visitor, usually passing a month with the retired 
actress during the summer vacation when Drury Lane was closed. 
She journeyed to Twickenham by the passage-boat rowed by Thames 
watermen. On one occasion, as she related, to while away the time 
after passing Vauxhall, she took a book from her pocket and began 
to read. The boatmen were disappointed; they knew her to be 
the popular comic actress, Miss Pope. " Oh, ma'am," said one of 
them, " we hoped to have the pleasure of hearing you talk." There 
was no resisting this simple homage. " I took the hint," said the 
good-natured lady, "and put away my book." Of the superfine 
Horace Walpole Miss Pope frankly avowed her opinion : " He 
could be very pleasant, and he could be very unpleasant" In 
what way? she was asked. "Oh, very snarling and sarcastic." 
She often met him at Mrs. Clive's tea-table. She shared in the 
old-fashioned pleasures of Little Strawberry Hill — its little 
supper- and card-parties, when Mrs. Clive managed to carry off at 
quadrille such "miraculous draughts of fish," as Walpole said. Then 
there were the saunterings in the tiny garden, or across the meadow, 
or down the green lane, which had been cut for her use between the 
cottage and the common, and which it was humorously proposed to 
call Drury Lane. The actresses were both very portly of figure, 
while Mrs. Clive owned so rubicund a complexion that when her 
face rose at Strawberry Hill Lady Townshend declared it made the 
place quite sultry. When Hounslow Powder Mills blew up, Walpole, 
to give an idea of the terrible nature of the explosion, declared that 



202 The Gentlentaris Magazine. 

it '"almost shook Mrs. Clive." But the lively parties at Cliveden, 
composed of "people of quality,** not less than of players, artists, 
authors, and even parsons, came to an end in 1785 upon the some- 
what sudden death of Mrs. Clive. Walpole had been playing cards 
with her but three days before, when he found her, as he writes, 
" extremely confused and not knowing what she did." He had seen 
" something of this sort before, and had found her much broken." 
She caught cold attending the funeral of General Lister, and was 
confined to her room for a day or two. " She rose to have her bed 
made, and while sitting on the bed with her maid by her, sank down 
at once without pang or groan." However, she was in her seventy- 
fifth year. She was buried in Twickenham churchyard, Miss Pope 
writing the epitaph engraved upon a mural tablet, and commencing, 
" Clive's blameless life this tablet shall proclaim," 

Very soon after her retirement from the stage Miss Pope quitted 
Great Queen Street for Newman Street ; it was no longer necessary 
for her to live so near the theatre. Mr. James Smith writes of an 
evening party she gave at her new residence within twelve months 
after her retreat from Drury Lane, when she entertained many distin- 
guished guests, some even from " the purlieus of St James's Palace," 
as her friend curiously describes it. " Here," he adds, " I beheld her 
in society for the last time. She shortly afterwards was attacked by 
a stupor of the brain ; and this once lively and amiable woman, who 
had entertained me repeatedly with anecdotes of people of note in 
her earlier days, sat calmly and quietly in her arm-chair by the fire- 
side, patting the head of her poodle dog, and smiling at what passed 
in conversation, without being at all conscious of the meaning of 
what was uttered. At her death I promised to myself to write her 
character in one of the public journals, and at her funeral I vowed 
to myself to write her epitaph. But, as Dr. Johnson says, ' the pro- 
mises of authors are like the vows of lovers.' " James Smith's narra- 
tive is incomplete, however. Miss Pope resided no long while in 
Newman Street She removed thence first to No. 25, and afterwards 
to No. 1 7, St. Michael's Place, Brompton ; dying there on the 30th 
July 18x8, as Mr. Crofton Croker has recorded in his "Walk from 
London to Fulham." She survived her retirement from the stage 
some ten years. 

Miss Pope — our Mrs. Candour and Tilburina — formed a con- 
necting link between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in their 
relation to theatrical history. Many of the most memorable of 
dramatic events occurred within the period of her prolonged career. 
Born within a year or two of Garrick's first appearance at Goodman's 



Mrs. Cdfidour. 203 

Fields, she became his devoted pupil and playfellow, a faithful 
member of his company during many years. Garrick gone, she 
rendered valuable service to Sheridan and the Kembles, witnessed 
their rising and setting, and lived to the time of the coming of 
Edmund Kean, and even of Macready. Her earliest efforts obtained 
record in the " Rosciad ;" she was the last survivor of the players 
enumerated by Churchill; her later performances were noted by Lamb, 
Hazlitt, and James Smith, and by their junior, Leigh Hunt, who saw 
his first play in 1800, and lived to 1859. James Smith, who survived 
until 1839, had seen Miss Pope play Flippanta in " The Confederacy," 
a part she first assumed in 1769. Leigh Hunt has left mention 
of her Mrs. Candour; her Lady Courtland in Miss Chambers's 
" elegant comedy," as it was the fashion to call it, " The School for 
Friends;" and her Mrs. Malaprop. James Smith held her Widow 
Racket in " The Belle's Stratagem " to be one of her best parts, and 
noted that "her usual manner of exhibiting piquant carelessness 
consisted in tossing her head from right to left and striking the palm 
of each hand with the back of its fellow, at the same moment casting 
her eyes upward with an air of nonchalance." Miss Mellon, it seems, 
adopted something of Miss Pope's manner in this respect. Leigh 
Hunt dwells particularly upon the artistic moderation and excessive 
naturalness of her acting. "She never," he writes, "passed those 
limits at which the actor's adherence to the author ends, and his 
mere wish to please the audience commences." He mentions "her 
precise bit of a voice and genuine humour, . . . her perfection of 
old-gentlewomanly staidness ; " notes that " with features neither 
naturally good nor flexible, she managed a surprising variety of expres- 
sion ; " and concludes : " with perpetual applause to flatter her, and a 
long favouritism to secure her, she had no bad habits ; and, when 
even the best of our actors are considered, it is astonishing how 
much praise is contained in that simple truth." 

DUTTON COOK. 



204 



OUR KINSHIP WITH RUSSIA. 

IN these days of Russophobism, when Englishmen are apt to look 
upon the country which extends over more than one-half of 
Europe as the habitation of a race of people more closely akin to the 
savage hordes of Asia than to the civilised nations of the West, it is 
well to consider the fact that there exists a bond of kinship which 
unites Russia firmly with the rest of Europe, and separates her dis- 
tinctly from Asiatic connections — in fact, knitting her into the political 
framework of the West. 

Every one knows how, during the eighth and ninth centuries of 
our era, there came from Denmark a great wave of Northmen, 
spreading itself over the west of Europe, by which new life and 
vigour was infused into the countries which came under its in- 
fluence. 

There came Guthrum the Dane to England ; there came Rolf 
the Ganger to France ; and later on there came William the Norman 
to England, and Robert the Wizard to Sicily ; and in each case they 
came with the same characteristics, and in each case their influence 
developed itself after the same fashion. Whether in England, 
France, or Southern Europe, the Danes assimilated themselves to 
the habits and customs of the country they had subdued. Rolf the 
Ganger became French ; his descendant, William, transformed him- 
self from a Frenchman into an Anglo-Norman ; and their followers 
likewise, whilst supplanting the old nobility, became essentially 
French and English themselves. 

In each country these Northmen developed a high taste for art, 
culture, and commerce — Rouen, Winchester, and Monreale, near 
Palermo, testify to this — and whilst conquering, they became con- 
quered by the manners and customs of those they subdued ; yet at 
the same time they infused new life and vigour into every branch of 
the community. 

This was the great Western wave which had its origin in Den- 
mark. At the same time, and from the same source, went forth an 
Eastern wave of conquest, which exhibited the same features, and 
accomplished exactly the same results throughout the East of Europe, 



Ou? Kinship with Russia. 505 

The continuity of this wave is less easy to trace, its annals are more 
disjointed and more buried in legendary lore. 

I purpose now to examine the sources of information available 
for tracing this line of conquest, and to show how the Danish 
Chersonese, like a closed-up fan, gradually expanded from right to 
left, and spread an influence over the whole of Europe which united 
all the countries therein by a common bond of union, and on the 
shores of Southern Europg did Norman shake hands with Norman, 
unconscious probably of their common origin. 

The place from which the most authentic information can be 
derived respecting the progress of the Northmen in the East is a 
small island lying about sixty miles off the coast of Sweden, and 
commanding the entrance to the Gulf of Finland and the mouths of 
all the great Russian highways of commerce, namely, the Neva, the 
Niemen, and the Dwina. Hence this island of Gotland was by 
nature situated as a stepping-stone for commerce and migration east 
and west. And in these days it is replete with reminiscences of the 
past ; coins of every dynasty from the Caspian to England are con- 
stantly being found there ; runic stones, relating to early travel, 
cover the island ; and, moreover, a large store of legends are found 
thereon, which remain pure and unadulterated by their complete 
isolation, and assist us materially in our research. 

Let us now visit this island, and gather together what legendary 
lore can be substantiated by natural facts and the sequence of events 
respecting this Danish wave of migration, which tarried here on its 
way to Russia. 

Gotland in early days was known only as a fitful, restless island, 
which occasionally appeared and then vanished from the sight of 

• ■ 

men. It was called the Baltic's Eye (Ostersjons oga). It would never 
be stationary, they said, until some mariner landed and lighted a fire 
thereon. 

There came one Thjelvar, the delver, the industrious, says the 
saga of Gotland, the son of Guti from Jutland, who left his Danish 
home with a large body of followers, in search of a dwelling-place, 
since his native land was crowded to excess. He kindled the neces- 
sary fire on the island, and from that day it vanished no more. 

It is easy to reconcile this legend with facts. Gotland is an 
extremely low-lying island, nowhere rising more than 200 feet above 
the level of the sea; and in those days it must have been even lower, 
for the waves are gradually retreating therefrom, and on the coast are 
seen tiers of high-water marks, which have been left high and dry 
by this gradual retreat of the ocean. 



206 The Gentleman's Magazine, 

It was the superstitious custom of the day to light fires on a newly* 
colonised spot, to drive away trolls and other evil spirits from the 
habitation of men. Here we have the legendary colonisation of 
Gotland by Danes from Jutland, and there are ample proofs to this 
day of the Danish origin of its inhabitants. Though now under the 
Swedish crown, Gotland for generations belonged to Denmark ; the 
dialect of Scandinavian spoken thereon leans more to Danish than 
to Swedish; whilst in remote spots on the island, Danish pure and un- 
mixed is still spoken ; coins, too, of Danish sovereigns prior to the 
period of Knut the Great are constantly dug up there, and many 
other facts could be adduced to prove the intercourse between the 
early colonists and their native country. 

When settled in his new country, Thjelvar, we are informed by 
the Saga, called the island Gutiland, after his father. The legend 
then relates how the island soon became too small for all the emigrants, 
a portion of whom sailed to Esthonia, and from thence down the 
Dwina, through Russia, until they came to the land of ^the Greek 
Emperor, or the Black Sea, where they remained, and their de- 
scendants lived, speaking their own language and serving the 
Byzantine Emperor. 

On the Crimea existed a district called " La Gotia," until the days 
when the Genoese were driven out of the Chersonese by the Ottoman 
Turks, twenty years after the fall of Constantinople. 

Thjelvar's wife, soon after his arrival in Gotland, presented him 
with three sons at a birth, and the island became quickly populated ; 
the three sons of Thjelvar were given the command of the three pro- 
vinces into which Gotland was divided, and which divisions are 
retained to this day ; and as years rolled on, and the increase of the 
population demanded further emigration, a third part of the Got- 
landers was chosen by lot to seek a home elsewhere, and this third 
part was entrusted to the command of three brothers, who led them 
across the Baltic to seek a home on the Russian continent. 

At a date identical with this emigration alluded to by the Saga, 
there appeared in Russia, at the invitation of the Slavs of Novgorod, 
three Scandinavian brothers — Ruric "the peaceful," Sineous "the 
victorious," and Trouvor " the faithful," together with their warriors 
and families, " who took up their position on the borders of the 
territory they were summoned to defend." l 

We will now for a while leave Gotland and its emigrants, to 
return to it later, and look elsewhere for information to substantiate 
these statements. There appeared at Constantinople, in the ninth and 

1 Nestor, Russian Annalist 



Our Kinship with Russia. 207 

tenth centuries, certain warriors, whose tongue was Scandinavian ; 
they became the emperor's Varangian guards, and fought for hire in 
the Greek army. They called Constantinople Tzargard (the em- 
peror's gard or enclosure, cf. our yard), and five times in two 
centuries the Northmen tried to capture it ; in fact, the notion ot 
Eastern conquest was of purely Scandinavian origin. The fierce 
northern ambition drove Oleg to hang up his shield on the golden 
door of Byzantium, and Oleg was no more a Russian, in our 
acceptance of the word, than Richard Coeur-de-Lion was an 
Englishman. 

Luitprand, Bishop of Cremona, alludes to these Northern war- 
riors as "called ' Russi' by the Greeks, though they were in reality 
NormannL" l 

Procopius also speaks of them, and tells us that they came from 
that mystic Northern island called " Ultima Thule," and at the same 
time leaves no shadow of doubt as to their Scandinavian origin. 
Since, then, we have the emigration spoken of in our Gotland Saga 
substantiated by this statement in Procopius, is it not rational to 
suppose that his Ultima Thule was not England, as some imagine, 
and was not the mainland of Scandinavia, as Swedish archaeologists 
would have us believe, but was, in point of fact, the island of Got- 
land, from which Thjelvar's comrades and descendants, as the Saga 
tells us, had migrated eastwards ? 

More especially does this theory hold good when we come to 
consider the intimate connection which existed in the ensuing cen- 
turies between the commercial isle of Gotland and the Greek empire, 
a connection of which other Scandinavian countries have but few 
traces, while Gotland is full to overflowing. 

Many are the theories respecting the origin of the Varangian guard 
at Constantinople, and the Varangian dynasty which ruled over Russia 
for several centuries. Their Scandinavian ancestry is undoubted; 
etymologists generally give as the derivation of the name the Swedish 
word " vara? to protect, or the Danish vcere ; but the Danish " Targe? 
a guardian or protector, seems to answer more closely to the various 
forms of the word which we find — namely, the Vargrians, the 
Varangians, and the Varinges. 

Latin annalists called them "faderati? which would imply that 
they bound themselves by some contract ; in fact, their position in 
the rotten empire of the East seems to have been much the same as 
that of the various free companies which played so prominent a part 
in the warfare of mediaeval Italy. 

JMuratorL 



208 The Gentlemafis Magazine. 

Concerning the name " Russi" which was given to them by the 
Greeks, we have a satisfactory derivative in the old Scandinavian 
word " Res" signifying a horse, which would imply that they were 
a mounted body of warriors. Curiously enough, to this day, in 
Gotland, the word " ros" is used to denominate a horse, long after it 
has fallen into disuse in the rest of the North, except in the com- 
pound " Hvalros " or whale-horse, our " walrus" 

It is singular, if this theory be accepted, to see the Empire 
of All the Russias bearing the name given to their "Norman" pro- 
genitors, a name consequently as suggestive as Normandy in France — 
whilst their Emperor bears the name of Caesar, a name for which their 
ancestors fought 

In every way did the Russian Varangians show the types and 
characteristics of their brethren who spread over the west of Europe. 
The tomb of a Varangian chief near Tchernigof was lately opened, and 
it contained the bones and armour of a prince of the tenth century ; 
his coat of mail and pointed helmet completely resemble the armour 
of a Norman warrior. The Russian princes we see depicted in early 
pictures are clothed and armed like the Norman chiefs in the Bayeux 
tapestry, whilst in our own days art has made identical represent- 
ations of Ruric the Scandinavian warrior, the founder of the Varan- 
gian dynasty, in the monument raised to his memory at Novgorod, 
and of William the Conqueror in the monument at Falaise. 

In the early treaties made by the Scandinavians in Russia, we 
learn that for some little time they did not cast off all traces of their 
own nationality. Their names are with few exceptions of Danish 
origin, and the most ancient guild statute of Novgorod the Great 
affords us a curious mixture of Scandinavian and Slavonic, showing 
the process of amalgamation much as the charters of the Plantagenets 
gradually grew out of Norman-French into English. 

Thus did Ruric the peaceful, his brothers^and his descendants, 
throw in their lot with the country they had come to rule, but not 
before they had done for Russia what William the Norman and his 
followers had done for England. By them a new era of commerce, 
art, and prosperity was opened out for the Slavs, until at length the 
Scandinavian emigrants became as distinctly Slavonian as the 
descendants of the conquering Normans became distinctly English ; 
and in describing the part they played in the formation of a Russian 
people, we might quote the early pages of English history. Their 
high-handed policy in the first instance was followed, as in England, 
by a development of national feeling in the towns. This was followed 
by a liberal grant of charters to boroughs, almost republican in their 



Our Kinship with Russia. 209 

feeling, rich and flourishing in all branches of industry. But upon 
Russia there fell the horrors of a Tartar invasion, which put her back 
for centuries in her advances towards civilisation. 

By taking a cursory glance at the fortunes of the commercial 
isle of Gotland in the early centuries of commercial development, 
when the crusaders drove much of the trading of the Mediterranean 
into the Northern channel, we shall be able to obtain a satisfactory 
idea of the abilities this eastern wave of Normans evinced both for 
commerce and art. For this small Swedish island is to-day as 
replete with reminiscences of former magnificence as are Rouen, 
Winchester, or Palermo ; and in the churches of Wisby, in Gotland, 
we find the influence of intercourse with the Grecian Empire stamped 
on every building. 

Profiting by the advice of their "countrymen settled in Russia," 
says the old Gotland Chronicle, 1 the islanders made rapid ad- 
vances in commerce. Their ships traded down the Dwina, the 
Niemen, and Lake Ladoga, with the East, and brought back with 
them the skins, spices, and riches of Siberia, India, and Arabia. The 
importance of Gotland in the commercial world of this date is proved 
by the quantities of coins which are continually being dug up there. 
In the Museum of Wisby, the capital of the island, we see a better 
collection of early English coins than there is in the British Museum, 
especially about the time of Knut the Great, Etheldred, &c, when 
the Danish influence in England was strongest. There are coins of 
Thetford, York, Lincoln, Stamford, &c, mingled with Byzantine, 
Arabic, Persian, and other coins of this date. 

In the architecture of the town of Wisby, most writers have 
found a puzzle. I will here quote from Fcrgusson's " Handbook of 
Architecture " : 

" The most striking peculiarity of the Gotland churches is the 
constant appearance of the pointed arch at a date earlier than we 
find it as a decorative feature in other parts of Europe. It may be, 
however, that the instances where it is found are additions or alter- 
ations of a later date, but the evidence is at least strong enough to 
merit a close examinatioa It is by no means improbable that in a 
city where coins of the Chalifs are constantly found, the pointed arch 
may have been introduced from the East at an earlier date than the 
Crusades, which seem first to have suggested its employment .... 
All the churches are small, like Greek churches. There does not 
seem to have been any metropolitan basilican or any conventual esta- 
blishments, but an immense number of detached cells and chapels, 

1 Strelow. 

vol. ccl. no. 1802. p 



210 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

scattered in groups all over the island, with very few that could hold 
a large congregation : perhaps a Greek plan, or a local peculiarity, we 
do not understand." 

A visit to the ruined churches of Gotland at once opens one's 
eyes to the extent of the intercourse with the East : round churches 
and Gothic windows, each with a date verified by annalists, which 
long anticipated the first sign of Gothic in Western Europe ; richly 
decorated carvings in true Byzantine style, all of which things are a 
mystery, if we do not bear in mind how the enterprising Russi left 
their homes and travelled to Byzantium, and transmitted to their 
relatives at home not only a love for the luxuries of the East, but a 
true appreciation for the arts and refinements of Greece. Scan- 
dinavia has nothing to compare with these ruined churches within 
the walls of Wisby ; scarcely are they surpassed by the cathedrals of 
Western Europe. 

A curious fact is told us by Professor Save, of Stockholm, who 
has dived deeply into Gotland's lore. He says, in proof of the 
extent of the Greek influence in Gotland, that one day he heard a 
common peasant girl tell a story word for word from Herodotus. 
Be that as it may, the island is full of Runic stones, put up to the 
memory of Gotland travellers and merchants who perished on the 
long and dangerous journey to Constantinople across the Steppes of 
Russia. 

It is an undecided point amongst authorities on commercial law, 
whether or not the " laws of Wisby " were the genuine predecessors 
of those now generally in vogue. French writers ! deny the assertion ; 
they claim a priority for the code of Oldron, and reject the code of 
Wisby as the spurious compilation of a modern printer ; yet it is 
not probable that the well-to-do traders who built and beautified 
Wisby would be entirely without a maritime code, and if they had 
one, they probably handed it down to posterity. 

This will always be a point difficult to decide ; but one has but 
to read the code of Wisby and the code of Rhodes, to be struck by 
the similarity between them ; and then, judging by the intercourse 
with Greece, it is easy to conjecture that Gotland merchants brought 
home with them from the East a knowledge of this celebrated code, 
which governed the commercial dealings of the Mediterranean prior 
to the Crusades : and it is more than probable that through this 
northern channel, through Russia and through Gotland, did the 
practices of the old world filter into the commercial haunts of the 
new. 

1 Vide M. Pardessus* Histoire da Lois Maritime*. 



Our Kinship with Russia. 211 

Some other facts contained in the annals of Gotland's commerce 
are interesting. As late as 1229 Gregory IX. issued a bull to the 
Cistercian abbot of Wisby to the effect that the Gotlanders should 
be restrained from holding intercourse with the Muscovites, the foes 
of Christianity. By that time their relations in Europe had entirely 
merged themselves in the Slavonic race, which grew in intensity 
during the seven centuries that the Varangian dynasty reigned over 
Russia. 

During the whole of the period from the emigration to Russia 
down to the fall of Gotland as a commercial centre, close intimacy 
was kept up between Russia and Scandinavia, and the wave of 
emigration proceeded in full vigour. An old annalist tells us l 
that in 1018 Kief was guarded by "the strength of the fugitive 
serfs who flocked thither, especially Danish ; " and in 1 269 Nov- 
gorod, Wisby, and Liibeck executed a treaty by which all old treaties 
for free commerce, toll-free trade, and protection for merchants were 
confirmed, and through the influence of Gotland merchants who 
traded between Germany and Russia, Novgorod became known 
throughout Europe as a centre of commerce, and eventually became 
the leading Eastern centre of the Hanseatic League. In Novgorod 
the Gotland merchants had their own church of St Olaf, and in 
Wisby the Russians likewise had their own church, warehouses, and 
quays. 

During this period of her existence Russia was intensely Scan- 
dinavian. The legislation of the Russian Charlemagne, as he is 
termed, the great Jaroslaf (1 01 6-1054), is strangely Norman in its 
character. In his code, " the Rousskaia Pravda" is found the pur- 
suit of an assassin by all the relatives of the dead ; there is the 
" wehrgeld" for different crimes, the judicial duel, the ordeal by 
boiling water, even a jury of twelve citizens to decide on all points 
of law. And by the marriage of the relatives of Jaroslaf he was 
closely connected with many of the Courts of Europe. His sister 
married the King of Poland, one of his daughters married Harold 
the Brave, King of Norway, another Henry I. of France, and a 
third Andrew, King of Hungary ; whilst Vladimir, his eldest son 
(cf. the Danish " Waldemar "), is said to have espoused Githa, 
daughter of Harold, King of England. Moreover, his Court was an 
asylum for exiled princes in Western Europe. The sons of Edmund 
Ironsides, St. Olaf, the exiled King of Norway, and a Prince of 
Sweden, all found a welcome in the Russian capital. In short, 
throughout the whole of the Varangian dynasty Russia was more 

1 Bayer. 
P2 



212 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

thoroughly European than she was again till the days of Peter the 
Great, who opened out a new line of policy for her, reuniting her 
with the West. 

To this day many Russian families — and they are the leading 
ones — will boast of their Scandinavian origin, just as our own old 
families boast of having come to England in the Conqueror's train. 
By the stepping-stone of Normandy the Northmen reached England ; 
by the stepping-stone of Gotland they reached Russia : both waves 
starting from the fountain-head of Denmark. 

J. THEODORE BENT. 



«3 



WHO WROTE "GIL BLAS"? 

IE SAGE'S novel, " Gil Bias of Santillana," enjoys a world-wide 
^d reputation. It is a vivid picture of manners, an apotheosis of 
the indifferent worldling to whom neither virtue nor roguery is in 
itself commendable or hateful, but to whom the pursuit of happiness, 
and success in that pursuit, constitute the aim and end of existence. 
The book, it has been shrewdly said, is as moral as experience ; it is 
also as useful ; and hence the cause of its popularity. Besides, 
Le Sage possesses in the highest degree the art of describing, in a 
fresh, pure, and simple style, that which is not pure, and of touching 
the evils of his time lightly, but always on the weak spot Gil 
Bias tells his own story, and relates his illusions, his struggles, his 
failures and successes, with unimpaired cheerfulness and good- 
humoured philosophy. He dilates and reflects on all he sees, and 
on the whole exercises his wit as well on his own history as on the 
actions of the society in which he lives. All that he narrates is 
simple and drawn from the life ; and yet there is hardly a minor 
feature of the picture which does not aim both at satirising and 
finding excuses for the foibles of mankind. Gil Bias spares 
nothing and nobody, and even his own shortcomings are exposed 
with sparkling drollery and vengeful frankness, though he gives him- 
self credit — and to others as well — for the upwellings of a better 
nature. He is a true type of men kindly disposed and not 
evil-intentioned, but withal weak in the flesh and unable always to 
resist temptation, even whilst he knows that he will repent of it 
afterwards. 

It has been said that Le Sage, in his one-act farce, " Le Temple 
de Memoire," represented at the Fair St. Laurent in 1725, and after- 
wards at the theatre of the Palais Royal, ridiculed the exaggerated 
admiration for Voltaire-*-then only known by the tragedies of 
" CEdipe," " Art&nire," and " Mariamne," and through his poem of 
" La Ligue," a feeble and first sketch of the " Henriade " — by making 
a poet who wishes to reach the Temple of Memory pick up a book 
from the ground whilst saying, " Je prends mon vol terre a tcrre." 



214 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

Le Sage's farce, interspersed with songs, opens with the appearance 
of Folly and Pierrot. Folly bewails the misfortune that so many men 
are anxious to flirt with her, but that none seems to wish to marry 
her; whereupon her confidant advises her to adopt the name of 
Glory, and to promise a perennial name in history to him who will 
make her his wife, for " poets are not the only persons who love 
to be mache-lauriers and amateurs de fumee" Fame approves of 
this advice ; Folly thereupon shakes her bauble, and, as if by magic, 
the Temple of Memory arises on the top of a steep hill. Various 
suitors for her hand now come upon the stage. First, a conqueror, 
whose only delight is fighting, bullets, pistols, and knives, and who 
declares it as his opinion that " any one at the head of a goodly 
number of cavalry, infantry, and artillery has a right to another man's 
property." Then a rich miller makes her a proposal. Next an artist 
asks for her hand, who is dressed as a Harlequin, professes to be a 
good fellow, promises to be very uxorial, and shows Folly how to 
borrow different colours from his variegated coat. Folly, under the 
disguise of Glory, recommends him to marry a rich woman, and not 
to sue for her hand, for he will have a fair chance of dying on a 
dunghill unless he acts up to her recommendation. But the artist 
replies that he will be happy to live with her on such a malodorous 
spot, whereupon Folly, carried away by enthusiasm, exclaims, " Vivent 
les Gueux ! " an exclamation which the great French song- writer, 
Beranger, utilised, about ninety years later, as the last line of the 
burden of his song, " Les Gueux." M. Tout-Uni, or Mr. Quite- 
Smooth, a poet, now appears, and is anxious to obtain the hand of 
Glory, but is rebuked for his presumption by M. Prone- Vers, Extoller 
of Verses — by whom it is said Voltaire's friend Thie'riot was meant 
— who sues her in the name of that " Phoenix of poets," his " illus- 
trissime " friend, the " celdbrissime " author of an " e'le'gantissime " 
poem, "far superior to all poems past, present, and future, and 
whose praises he will never cease to sing." Folly replies that she 
knows by these hyperbolic epithets what kind of Homer is meant. 
Three other poets arrive as fresh suitors ; but Folly now appears 
under her own true colours, argues that no real difference exists 
between herself and Glory, and expresses her willingness to 
marry them all. Voltaire, of whose poem, " La Ligue," Folly had 
already said — 

Dans ce po&me si vante, 
L'art se trouve un peu maltraitl. 
Vous arrangez votre mati&re 
Sans (sic) dessus dessous, 



Who wrpte " Gil Bias*' ? aj& 

Sans devant derriere ; < 
Et les bons morceaux y sont tous 
Sans devant derriere, 
Sans dessus dessous , — 

may, perhaps, have felt still more bitterly the sting of a couplet, also 
sung by Folly, and referring to his tragedy, " CEdipus," written when 
ht was only eighteen years old, performed in 1718 forty-five times in 
succession, and published the following year with some letters to a 
friend, in which are analysed the " (Edipus " of Sophocles, a tragedy 
of the same name by Corneille, and his own. The lines sung by 
Folly in the fifteenth and last scene of the " Temple de Me'moire " 
are as follows : — 

Un sujet traite par Corneille 
N'avait qu'un prix tres-incertain ; 
Mais il devient une merveille, 
En nous passant de main en main ! 
Ha ! vraiment voire ! 
Ziste, zeste et lonla, 
En grand trio te voila, 
Dans le Temple de Me'moire. 

Le Sage renewed his attack on the poet ten years later. In the 
last volume of " Gil Bias," which appeared in 1735, there is a 
portrait of Don Gabriel Triaquero, a fashionable playwright (bk. x. 
ch. 5), whom everybody runs to see, for no better reason than 
that he is fashionable, and which, it was generally believed, was 
intended for Voltaire. When, in 1752, five years after Le Sage's 
death, the " Age of Louis XIV." was published, the then celebrated 
Voltaire saw his way to pay off a literary grudge, and could not 
resist the temptation. He says in this work : " ' Gil Bias ' is still 
read because it is true to nature ; but it is entirely taken from the 
Spanish romance called ' La Vidad de lo Escudiero Dom Marcos 
d'Obrego.' " 2 This criticism of Voltaire was soon followed by others. 
The very trouble Le Sage had taken to render his novel perfect, the 
pains he had bestowed to become intimately acquainted with the 
habits and customs of the Spaniards of the times he describes, 
served as a reason for attacking him and his book, and for accusing 
him of impudent plagiarism. Father Juan d'lsla, a well-known 

1 These words are not to be found in the sixth volume of the ThMtre de la 
Foire, Amsterdam, Zacharie Chatelain, 1731, in which volume Le Temple de 
Me'moire is published. 

* Ticknor, in M\s> History of Spanish Literature, Vol. III., p. 2, ch. 34, observes: 
'• The idea that the Gil Bias was taken entirely from the Marcos de Obregon of 
Espinel, or was very seriously indebted to that work, is as absurd as Voltaire's 
mode of spelling the title of the book, which evidently he had never seen, and of 
which he could even have heard very little." 



216 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

Spanish author, stigmatised Le Sage as having stolen " Gil Bias " 
from a manuscript which an unknown Andalusian advocate 
had given to the Frenchman whilst in Spain. The padre had his 
own Spanish translation of the French novel printed and published 
in Madrid in 1787, omitting some parts and altering others, adding 
to it a long and not successful continuation, and stating on the 
tide-page that Gil Bias was " now restored to its country and 
native language by a Spaniard who does not choose to have his 
nation trifled with." But nobody believed in the Spanish advocate and 
in the manuscript given to Le Sage in Spain, for he had never been 
there. In 18 18 Count Francois de Xeufchateau read a dissertation 
before the French Academy, in which he tried to show that Le Sage 
was the author of " Gil Bias," and this dissertation he enlarged, 
improved, and published in 1820, as a preface to an edition of thif 
novel. 1 The same year, a learned Spanish exile, Don Juan 
Antonio Llorente, who was then living in Paris, and who had just 
published a u History of the Inquisition in Spain," presented to the 
French Academy a Memoir of Critical Observations, in which he 
attempted to establish that " Gil Bias " had not been written by 
Le Sage, but by a Spaniard. This Memoir was forwarded to a 
committee, composed of MM. de Xeufchateau. Raynouaxd, and 
Lemontey ; but no report seems ever to have been made. Eighteen 
months after the presentation of Llorente's Memoir, the first of these 
gentlemen read to the Academy an " Examen du nouveau srstfcme sur 
lauteur de ' Gil Bias,* ou reponse aux Observations critiques de M. 
Llorente," which was published the same year. This was shortly 
afterwards replied to by M. Llorente, who amplified and sent forth, in 
the form of a book, his " Observations critiques sur le Roman de * Gfl 
Bias de Santillane,' " in which he maintains that this novel was the 
work of the Spanish historian de Solis, chiefly because no one but 
this gentleman could have planned such a fiction at the time " Gil 
Bias" is supposed to have been written. Llorente's book is divided 
into fourteen chapters, of which the first and twelfth contain the pre- 
tended history of the manuscript, whilst the other ten attempt to 
prove its existence. The second chapter is called " A Chronology 
of the Life of Gil Bias," and gives the days and the months when 

1 This dissertation was really written by Victor Hugo, then a very young man. 

i is partly hinted at by the words Marins use* in the Mistrabks : '* She 

I voold not fail to esteem and valne me if she knew that I am the real 

rf : dissertation on Marcos Obregon de la Ronda, which M. Francois de 

ropriated, and used as a preface to his edition of Gu Bias ; " and 

r ouufumed in a chapter of Victor H*go roomie far urn tanom A sm 

» be writtca by Madame Hngo. 



Who wrote "Gil Bias"? 217 

certain events of the novel are supposed to have happened Ac- 
cording to this chapter, Gil Bias, born in 1588, was about thirty- 
two or thirty-three years old when Philip III. died, and was 
fifty-eight or fifty-nine when he married for the second time in 1646. 

In the North American Review for October 1827 appeared an 
article "Who wrote 'Gil Bias'?" of which the author, Mr. A. H. 
Everett, inclines to the belief that de Solis, and not Le Sage, was the 
author of " Gil Bias." He bases his opinion chiefly on Llorente's 
"Observations," and states frankly that he has not seen the 
" Examen " of the Count de Neufch&teau, in defence of that novel, 
but has derived the latter^ reasons from the work of Llorente. 
Mr. Everett's arguments in favour of a Spanish origin of "Gil 
Bias " are : — 

i°. The minute acquaintance of the author with the political, 
geographical, and statistical situation of Spain, and with the manners 
of its inhabitants. 

2 . The considerable number of errors, more or less obvious, 
principally in the manner of writing the names of places and persons, 
and most naturally accounted for by considering them as the errors 
of a person transcribing names with which he *was not perfectly 
familiar. 

3 . The mixture of Spanish idioms, and even Spanish words and 
phrases, to be found in " Gil Bias." 

4°. The illustrating, by an example in French, " les intermfedes 
font beaut^ dans une com^die," the verbal niceties of the style of the 
Spanish poet, Gongora. 

5 . The probability of Le Sage having taken " Gil Bias " from the 
same source as "The Bachelor of Salamanca," which came out 
in 1738 as an avowed translation from an unpublished Spanish 
manuscript 

These same arguments, amplified and worked out, as well as many 
fresh ones, have been used in an article also called " Who wrote 
'Gil Bias'"? which appeared in the June number of Blackwood 9 s 
Magazine for 1844, and in which are ably maintained the views of those 
who persist in believing that " Gil Bias " is of Spanish origin. Fol- 
lowing chiefly Llorente, the writer of this article states that " Gil Bias " 
is translated from a manuscript written in Spanish by Don Antonio 
de Solis y Ribadeneira, author of " Historia de la Conquista de 
Mejico." The reasons given for this assertion are : i°, that this 
novel abounds in facts and allusions which none but a Spaniard 
could know ; and, 2 , that it abounds in errors which no Spaniard 
could make. 



2 1 8 The Gentleman's - Magazine* 

It is further stated that Le Sage obtained the manuscript from the 
library of his friend and patron, the Abbe* de Lyonne, third son of 
Hugo, Marquis de Lyonne, a lover of Spanish literature, who was 
sent on a secret mission to Spain in 1656 (1658), and who, whilst 
there, lived in great intimacy with Louis de Haro, Duke of Montoro. 
As an additional argument, it is mentioned that " The Bachelor of 
Salamanca," published in 1738, which the author himself admitted to 
be a translation from a Spanish manuscript, and of which he never 
produced the original, bears a great similarity to " Gil Bias," and con- 
tains part of that manuscript relating to America, and not found in 
the last-mentioned work of Le Sage. Nineteen points of resemblance 
are brought forward to prove this. It is also argued that the fre- 
quent allusions in " Gil Bias " to some of the most remarkable 
characters of the court of Louis XIV, only demonstrate " that the 
extremes of society are very uniform . . . and the abuses of govern- 
ment . . . the same, or nearly so, in every country." 

The facts and allusions which none but a Spaniard could know 
are as follows : — 

1. The custom of travelling on mules, the coin ducats, the 
begging with a rosa/y as well as the extorting money in the manner 
which Gil Bias delineates, and the subterranean caves described by 
Captain Rolando. 

2. The words u dire son rosaire, rezar su rosario," as foreign to the 
habits of a " vieux militaire ; " travelling the whole day without meet- 
ing any one ; the escorting of a coach, and the drawing of that vehicle 
by mules. 

3. The treatment of prisoners in Spain. 

4. The exact description of the class of women known in Spain 
by the name " Beata." 

5. The dinner-hour at twelve during the reigns of Philip III. and 
Philip IV. 

6. The description of the Spanish innkeepers, so different from 
the French, as well as the intimate knowledge displayed by Gil 
Bias of the houses of noblemen at Madrid (bk. ii. ch. 7, and bk. vii. 
ch. 13). 

7. The acquaintance with Spanish habits and customs, as Mer- 
gelina putting on her mantle to go to mass (bk. ii. ch. 7) ; Gil Bias 
joining the muleteer (bk. hi. ch. 1); Rolando informing Gil Bias 
that his comrades were three days in prison before being put to 
death (bk. iii. ch. 2); the allusion to the Andalusian way of managing 
a cloak (bk. iii. ch. 5) ; and to the " Caballeros en Plaza," or 
amateur gentlemen bull-fighters (bk. iv. ch. 7) ; the dress of the 



Who wrote « Gil Bias"? U9 

inquisitor and his servimts ; the inkstand called. "Tinterode Escri- 
bano," which the Spanish scriveners always carry about with them, 
as well as the whole scene between Ambrosia de Lamela and Simon 
(bk. vi. ch. i) ; the custom of carrying wine in leathern bags 
(bk. ii. ch. 6); the appointment of Ignatio to the archdeaconry of 
Granada, by virtue of a particular bull (bk. x. ch. 12); and the 
allusion which the Count-Duke of Olivarez makes to Don Alphonso 
de Leyva about the objection of the Aragonese to be governed by 
any other hut the king himself, or by a person of the royal blood 
(bk. xi. ch. 12). 

8. The use in " Gil Bias " of " Don " prefixed in Spanish to the 
Christian and never to the surname, as Don Juan, whilst its synonym 
"Dom" is in France prefixed to the surname, as Dom Calmet; 
" dame " as a translation of u senora," and the latter word itself ; as 
well as the employment of many other Spanish expressions and idioms, 
such as " seiior escudero, senor caballero, famosa comedia, hidalgo, 
contador mayor, oidor, escribano, hospital de ninos, olla podrida, 
marmalada de berengaria, picaro, etc." 

9. The knowledge that during the reign of Philip IV. the actors 
lodged in the provinces in the buildings in which dramatic perform- 
ances were represented. 

10. The idiomatic Spanish verses which Don Gaston de Cogollos 
sings in the Tower of Segovia (bk. ix. ch. 5). 

11. The words which Le Sage has evidently translated from the 
Spanish, such as " seigneur, dame, cavalier," as well as many 
expressions of Spanish origin, such as " h Dieu ne plaise, ils sont 
tous plus durs que des Juifs, graces au ciel, patriarche des Indes, 
gar^on de famille, be'ne'fice simple, gargon de bien et d'honneur, 
fameux directeur, laboureur, disciple, viceroi, Juif comme Pilate, 
dormir la sieste, rendre de tres-humbles graces, etc" 

1 2. The local knowledge of Spanish towns, as shown by Gil Bias, 
such as the mentioning of a church at Toledo called u de los Reyes," 
the speaking of the Prado of Madrid as the u pre* de Saint-J drome," 
the quoting the "Rue des Infantes" and the "Maison des Re- 
penties " in the same town ; and* the statement that Lucretia, the 
repentant mistress of Philip IV., is going into the nunnery of "la 
Incarnacion," reserved expressly for nuns connected in some way 
with the royal family of Spain. To this should be added the 
mentioning of no less than seventy provinces and large towns in 
Spain, and of one hundred and three Spanish villages and towns 
of inferior importance, many of them unknown out of that country. 

13. The citing of the names of thirteen dukes and eight counts, 



220 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

of which four only are fictitious, whilst the title of " Admirante de 
Castilia," also quoted, did not exist when " Gil Bias " was published; 
the naming of about sixty persons celebrated in their day among the 
inhabitants of the Peninsula, belonging to distinguished families, and 
the employment of twenty-nine names, really Spanish, but applied to 
imaginary characters, as well as forty-five names "intended to 
explain the character of those to whom they are given, like Mrs. 
Slipslop and Parson Trulliber in English, retained by Le Sage, 
notwithstanding the loss of their original signification." 
The errors which no Spaniard would make are : — 
i. The orthographical mistakes which abound in " Gil Bias," and 
which prove that Le Sage transcribed his novel from a manuscript, 
such as " Corcuelo " instead of " Corzuelo," " Manjuelo " for 
" Majuelo," " Londona" for " Londono," " carochas " for " corozas," 
"cantador" for "contador," "Segiar" for "Seguiar," "Moyadas" 
for " Miajadas," " Priego" for " Pliego." 

2. Le Sage's ignorance of Spanish etiquette by supposing as 
equivalent words " Senor " and " Senoria," the latter title being only 
given to people of high station and illustrious rank. 

3. The anecdote about the rector of the University of Salamanca 
being found in the streets intoxicated ; which does not tally with 
Spanish manners, but was interpolated by Le Sage. 

4. The many errors in the spelling of Spanish places, which go 
far to prove that Le Sage did not copy these names from printed 
books. 

5. The historical errors to be found in " Gil Bias," and of which 
only one, which occurs in the story of Don Pompeyo de Castro 
(bk. iii. ch. 7), is confessed by Le Sage, " though the original Spanish 
author may have fallen into some of them." 

6. The errors of Le Sage himself, such as Donna Mencia's first 
husband dying in the service of the King of Portugal, five or six 
years after the beginning of the seventeenth century ; " Le Mariage 
de Vengeance " (bk. iv. ch. 4), which did not take place, as de- 
scribed, in the time of Philip II., but three hundred years before, 
during the Sicilian Vespers, 1283; Gil Bias, after his release from the 
Tower of Segovia, telling his patron, Alphonso de Leyva, that four 
months before he had held an important office under the Spanish 
crown (bk. ix. ch. 10), while he states to Philip IV. that he was six 
months in prison at Segovia (bk. xi. ch. 2); and, above all, the error 
of Scipio (bk. xL ch. 1) returning to his master in 1621, and 
informing him that Philip III. had died, that the Cardinal Duke of 
Lerma had lost his office, and that the Count of Olivarez was 



Who wrote " Gil Bias"? 221 

appointed prime minister, whilst in reality the Duke of Lerma had 
been dismissed three years before the death of the king, and was 
succeeded by his son, the Duke of Uzeda. Hence it is inferred 
that Le Sage, in transcribing from the supposed Spanish manuscript, 
left out the words " the Duke of Uzeda, son of," for that nobleman 
was really turned out of office at the death of Philip III. 

Moreover, the reasons given why Le Sage claims to be the author 
of " Gil Bias," but merely the translator of the " Bachelor of Sala- 
manca," are, that the " Bachelor " " had been long in the possession 
of the Marquis de Lyonne and his son before it became the property 
of Le Sage ; and, although tolerably certain that it had never been 
diligently perused, the French author could not be sure that it had not 
attracted superficial notice, and that the. name was not known to 
many people." Then, after expressing " the tenderness to the friend 
and companion of our boyhood, and gratitude to him who has 
enlivened many an hour, and added so much to our stock of in- 
tellectual happiness," the article in Blackwood ends by affirming 
that "the main fact contended for by M. Llorente — that is, the 
Spanish origin of ' Gil Bias ' — is undeniable; and the subordinate and 
collateral points of his system [are] invested with a high degree of 
probability." 

A late German author and well-known Spanish scholar, Charles 
Frederic Franceson, published in 1857 a pamphlet, written in French, 
" Essai sur la Question de TOriginalite' de ' Gil Bias,' " in which he 
defended Le Sage against the accusations of Llorente. In this essay 
he argues that " The Bachelor of Salamanca," being published after 
"Gil Bias," can only be called a weakened reflex of the earlier 
written novel ; that there are as many Spanish words and phrases 
in Le Sage's avowed translations, "Le Diable Boiteux," "Guz- 
man d'Alfarache," and " Estevanille Gonsalez," as in " Gil Bias ; " 
and that Spanish words have not always an equivalent in French, 
so that " pre* " is not the same as " prado," " maire " as " cor- 
regidor," &c He further observes that even Voltaire, who did 
not know Spanish well,in the first two chapters of his tale, " Jenni, ou 
l'Athe'e," of which the action takes place at Barcelona, employs a 
certain number of allegorical names, indicating the character or pro- 
fession of the personages to which they belong, such as Senora Boca 
Vermeja (ruddy-mouth), Sefior Don Inigo y Mendrozo (coward), 
and some others. He also states that the accusation that Le Sage 
sometimes writes " Juan, Pedro," and similar Spanish names, and 
sometimes "Jean, Pierre" in French, is not quite correct The 
novelist always employs Spanish names when they are written 



222 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

differently from French ones, and often accompanies them by "Don ;" 
but when they are identical, or nearly so, in both languages, he writes 
the French form, as " Don Gaston, don Alphonse, don Louis, don 
Fe'lix." " Dom " is not the equivalent of the Spanish " Don," but is 
applied in French to certain members of religious orders ; " dame " 
and "maitre" are used by Moliere in the "Avare," as "dame 
Claude," "maitre Jacques;" "seigneur" and "cavalier" are only 
written to give local colouring to " Gil Bias ; " the four lines which 
Don Gaston de Cogollos sings are possibly taken from a Spanish 
author, whilst the misspelling of proper names, towns, places, &c, is 
probably owing to printers' errors or to carelessness. M. Franceson 
gives also in his pamphlet the translation of all the passages which 
Le Sage has borrowed from EspinePs " Marcos de Obregon," and a 
list of Spanish authors laid under contribution by the French novel- 
writer, as well as the original passages of Firenzuola's Italian trans- 
lation of Apuleius's " Golden Ass," from which Gil Bias's adventures 
in the cave of the robbers have been taken. 

" The Chronology of the Life of Gil Bias," as given by M. Llorente, 
is wrong, though it seems ridiculous to treat a novel like an historical 
work, and to verify every date on which certain actions of the hero are 
supposed to have taken place. Gil Bias left Oviedo when he was 
seventeen years old (bk. i. ch. i), and about six months afterwards 
Donna Mencia de Mosquera relates to him that her husband died 
seven years ago, when the Portuguese army was at Fez (bk. i ch. n). 
As Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, went in 1578 with an army to 
Morocco, where he was killed the same year, Donna Mencia must 
have spoken in 1585 ; therefore Gil Bias was born in 1568, and not 
in 1588, as Llorente says. Then arises the difficulty of explaining 
how, some time after Donna Mencia's adventure, and after Portugal 
had been annexed to Spain in 1580, the master of Gil Bias, Don 
Bernard de Castil-Blazo, could pass for a spy of the King of Portugal 
(bk. iii. ch. 1), and how Don Pompeyo de Castro could mention a 
King of Portugal when no such monarch existed — Le Sage, in the 
later editions of " Gil Bias," altered this potentate into a King of 
Poland (bk. iii. ch. 7) — and how Captain Rolando could say to 
Gil Bias (bk. iii. ch. 2) that, when he entered the town of Leon, the 
people would not have been more eager to see him if he had been a 
Portuguese general taken prisoner in war. Moreover, Gil Bias was 
imprisoned in the tower of Segovia a few months before the dismissal 
of the Duke of Lerma, which took place in 16 18. Our hero was 
then fifty years old, and m ,-il * Utonia some time afterwards. 
When the Count-Duke of ' ^\ A th<exiled in 1643, Gil Bla* 



s 



Who wrote "Gil Bias"? 223 

would be more than seventy ; yet, nothing daunted, he returns to 
his estate after the count's death in 1646, calls himself a man " who 
begins to grow old," maijies again, twenty-eight years after his first 
marriage, a young lady between nineteen and twenty, and begets two 
children, " of whom he devoutly believes himself to be the father." 

It must be obvious that any literary man, before beginning to 
write such a work as " Gil Bias " and to describe the events of such 
an adventurous career at a peculiar period of history and in a parti- 
cular country, would consult the different travels and descriptions 
of the land in which his story takes place — would, so to speak, 
try to assimilate himself with the natives, and, by dint of reading 
and studying, become, as it were, bone of their bone and flesh of 
their flesh. In this article the attempt will be made to prove that 
Le Sage did so. Let it, however, be remembered that the first two 
volumes of "Gil Bias" were published in 1715, the third in 1721, 
and the last in 1735. 

(a) Le Sage acquired the habits and customs of Spain (see Nos. 
1.7, page 6) in some of the books which he perused. The travelling 
by mules and the filthy state of the beds is mentioned : " Le samedi 
quatri&me d'octobre, ayant change de mules, je partis de Pamp&one, 
ayant achetd des draps k cause de la malpropret^ des lits." l The 
same book speaks of the subterranean caves in Castile, where it is 
said " the Spaniards retired during the time of the Moors," — though 
Le Sage places the cave of Rolando in the Asturias, — and of the 
bull-fights "at Erija, five leagues from Fuentes . . . where there 
were four noblemen (Caballeros en Plaza), who fought all dressed in 
black, and with feathers in their hats." The Countess d'Aulnoy 2 
describes also at full length a bull-fight which took place at Madrid in 
1679, where six noble knights were engaged, and she mentions 
another fight in her "M&noires." 3 In her "Relation " 4 she employs 
the phrase " reciter le rosaire," and says that all the Spanish ladies 
have one "attach^ h. leur ceinture." The same book gives also 
many examples of the tricks of innkeepers in Spain. The leather* 
bag of wine is spoken of by her : 6 " The wine is put in prepared 
goat-skins, and it always smells of pitch or burning." Another book of 
travels 6 says that " they (the Spaniards) have no other casks but goat- 

1 Journal du Voyage d Espagnt, etc. Paris, 1669. 

1 Relation du Voyage en Espagne. Paris, 1690. Lettre X. 

■ Af /moires de la Cour a* Espagne. Paris, 1690. 

• Lcttrc VIII. 

• Lcttrc IX. 

9 Relation de Madrid. Cologne, 1665. 



224 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

skins, which they call Bollegos, and which are so pitched that when 
I drink I seem to swallow the awl (le Saint Crespin) of a shoemaker." 
The Countess, in speaking of the condemned to death, states : * 
"Les lois du royaume de Valence . . . accordent quelques jours 
aux criminels aprfes qu'ils ont 6t6 jug&." Le Sage says that this law 
existed also in Leon. The particular bull allowing the Spanish kings 
to appoint archbishops is spoken of by Lenglet du Fresnoy, 2 who 
says : " Le Roi seul, en vertu d'Indults du Saint Stege, nomme aux 
6v£ch6s en Espagne." What "indults" are is to be found in 
Richelet's Dictionary, 17 19: "II y a deux sortes d'indults, actifs et 
passifs. Les indults actifs donnent le pouvoir de nommer et pre- 
senter des benefices et de les conf&er. Les papes accordent ces 
indults aux Princes, aux Cardinaux, aux Archeveques, Eveques et 
autres Prdats." M. Llorente also pretends that the use of chocolate 
was unknown in France at the time Le Sage wrote "Gil Bias;" but 
Brillat-Savarin, in his "Physiologie du Gout," 8 says : "During the 
beginning of the Regency (1715-1723), chocolate was in more general 
use than coffee ; because it was then taken as an agreeable nourish- 
ment, whilst coffee was only looked upon as a curious and extravagant 
drink." 

(b) The words and passages in " Gil Bias," evidently translated 
from the Spanish (see No. 8, page 7), and which are said not to be 
French, were partly used, as M. Franceson has already stated, to 
give a local colouring to the original, and are, as such, found in 
some of the books of travels which have been mentioned. The 
Countess d'Aulnoy 4 uses "Senor cordonnier, hidalgos, senor 
escudero, oidor, l'Hopital de los Niftos, la famosa comedia." 
Another traveller in Spain, a Dutch diplomatist, Aarsens van Som- 
melsdyck, who wrote in French,* says also, " Entre eux ils se 
traitent de Senores Cavalleros." 5 Le Sage appears not always to have 
lodged the actors in the " posadas de los representantes " (see No. 9, 
page 7), for Laura relates to Gil Bias that Phenicia lived "with the 
whole troop in a large hdtd garni" (bk. vii. ch. 7). 

(c) The dinner-hour was twelve o'clock in Paris as well as in 
Madrid (see No. 5, page 6). Boileau, in his third Satire, written 
in 1665, the very year of Philip IV.'s death, says that, " coming from 
Mass, P. hastens to a dinner to which he was invited, just as the clock 
struck twelve." 

1 Mimoires de la Cour d'Espagne. 

* MHhode pour itudier la Gtographie. Vol. VI. 1 716. 

* Mtditation VI. Section 2, § 10. 
4 Relation du Voyage en Espagne. 

* Voyage d % Espagne (fait en 1655), etc. Cologne, 1666. 



Who wrote "Gil Bias"? 225 

(d) Llorente accuses Le Sage of not knowing his own language 
(see No. 1 1, page 7), or, in other words, of introducing Spanish 
expressions into French. This accusation is totally wrong. Nearly 
all of the words or phrases quoted as not French are to be found 
in Richelet's Dictionary, of which the third edition, which I have 
consulted, was published in 1 7 1 9. There we see " cavalier " described 
as " gentilhomme qui porte Y6p6e ; " " seigneur," sometimes used " en 
riant," as " Seigneurs Chevaliers Catalans ; " " k Dieu ne plaise ; " 
" grices k Dieu," though not " au ciel ; " but, says the French lexico- 
grapher, " cette expression est basse ; " " rendre graces, rendre des 
actions de graces," though not " rendre de trfes-humbles grices ; " 
" femme de bien et d'honneur." Richelet has also " famille," " viceroi," 
"be'n^fice simple;" he defines "laboureur" as"celuiquicultivelaterre 
avec la charue " (sic), and gives as an example " un riche laboureur," 
which expression Le Sage likewise uses ("Gil Bias," bk. v. ch. 1), 
and which evidently cannot mean " a rich day-labourer," as Llorente 
thinks it does. " Disciple," spelled "diciple," is defined as "&olier;" 
"fameux," which, according to Llorente, no Frenchman would use in 
the sense of " cdlkbre," was, according to Richelet, precisely employed 
in that sense in Le Sage's time. Llorente says about the word 
" directeur:" " Only a Spaniard, or at least some one who has lived a 
long time in Spain, can know the difference between a monk who is 
only seen in the confessional, and a very reverend father, of the 
' Cordon Alto,' of the ' Haut Cordon,' who is called spiritual 
director of consciences, and whom the devotees treat to pigeons, 
partridges, and other little dainty dishes." In Richelet's Dictionary 
" directeur" is defined as the "ordinary confessor of a person," and 
the two following lines are quoted from Boileau's tenth " Satire : " 
" But of all mortals, thanks to the pious souls, none is so well cared 
for as a directeur de fcmmcs? The Countess d'Aulnoy says in her 
"Relation du Voyage en Espagne:" 1 "M. Mellini, the Apostolic 
Nuncio, consecrated the ' patriarche des Indes ' on Trinity, and the 
king was present." 

(e) The local knowledge of Spanish towns displayed by Le Sage 
(see No. 12, page 7) might easily have been acquired; for in 
d'Aulnoy's " Relation," in the thirteenth letter, the Countess says : 
"We went to hear mass in the Church de Los Reys at Toledo." 2 
The " Maison des Repenties," to which Sirena is sent ("Gil Bias," 
bk. ix. ch. 7), may have been anywhere ; the Countess d'Aulnoy 

' Lettre X. 

* Llorente says the knowledge of the Church de los Reyes at Toledo " est une 
des preuves irrecusables de l'existence d'un manuscrit espagnol." 

VOL. CCL. NO. l802. Q 



226 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

speaks of one in her "Relation ;" and so she does four times of the 
existence of a convent, " Las Descalzas Reales," called by Le Sage 
" Monastfere de V Incarnation," where the widows and mistresses of 
the Kings of Spain used to retire. In the third letter she says: 
" Philip IV. preferred Maria Calderona to a young lady of noble 
birth who was in attendance on the Queen, and who was so hurt by 
the fickleness of the King, whom she really loved, and by whom she 
had a son, that she withdrew to Las Descalzas Reales, where she 
became a nun . . . The King sent word to La Calderona that she 
had to go in a nunnery, as it is the custom when the King quits his 
mistress." In the ninth letter the Countess writes : "This order of 
the Carmelites is held here in great veneration. Even Queens, 
when they become widows, are obliged to spend with them the rest 
of their lives. Don Juan (himself the illegitimate son of Philip IV.) 
has an illegitimate daughter who is a Carmelite nun. She is wonder- 
fully beautiful, and it is said that she did not wish to take the 
veil ; but it was her destiny, and so it is the fate of many others of 
her rank, who are scarcely more satisfied about it than she was. 
These nuns are called Descalzas Reales, which means ' royal ladies.' 
This rule applies even to the King s mistresses, whether they are 
unmarried or widows. When he ceases to love them, they must 
become nuns." The Countess repeats this in her fifteenth and last 
letter, and also in her " Mdmoires." The knowledge that there was 
such a convent, says the author of the article in Blackwood, is " a 
still stronger argument in favour of the existence of a Spanish manu- 
script." Calling the Prado of Madrid by its light name, and quoting 
the " Rue des Infantes," is not to be wondered at, for there were 
several guide-books of Madrid printed, before " Gil Bias " was pub- 
lished. The mentioning of so many provinces, large and small 
towns, and villages of Spain, is not marvellous, as there existed 
many geographical handbooks of Spain, written in Latin, as well as 
Colmenar's " Ddlices d'Espagne etde Portugal," 1707, translated into 
French, and all published long before " Gil Bias " saw the light. A 
large number of these names are also given in the books of travels 
in Spain, already mentioned. The titles of the dukes, counts, and 
celebrated persons to be found in " Gil Bias " may be discovered in 
d'Aulnoy's " Voyage," in her " Memoires de la Cour d'Espagne," 
in Salazar's " Inventaire," ! and in many other works. I find, in the 
" Inventaire " alone, the names of the nobles, their residences and 
incomes, with a list of archbishops and bishops, viscounts, generals, 

1 Salazar, Inventaire general des plus curieuses rteherches ' des royaumes 
tf Espagne y iraduit dc V Espagnol. Taris, 16 15. 



Who wrote " Gil Bias"? ggjr 

admirals, priors, commanderies ; and also the councils and coun- 
cillors, presidents, auditors, secretaries, and other officers, and the 
way they are appointed, as well as their different incomes. In this 
little book are likewise given lists of the officers of the king's 
household, their salaries and pensions ; and at the end of it a table 
showing the distances between the different towns and villages. In 
the Countess's " M&noires " there is a list of the archbishops* 
bishops, and different grandees of Spain ; she also relates the history 
of the Admirante of Castile, a tide abolished when Le Sage wrote, 
but not when the Countess penned her book. To say that forty-five 
Spanish names, such as those of Mrs. Slipslop and Parson Truiliber 
(see No. 13, page 8), were not likely to be invented by any but a 
Spaniard seems to me to be forgetting that Le Sage was an accom- 
plished Spanish scholar ; but, even if he were " only acquainted with 
the lighter part of Spanish literature," he might easily have com- 
pounded these names. The orthographical mistakes (see No. 1, page 8) 
are, as Mr. Franceson has already observed, chiefly printers' errors 
or faults of carelessness ; though many of them, such as " Contador," 
" Miyadas," " Majuelo," and " Pliego," are rightly spelt in the early 
editions of " Gil Bias." The supposed error of Le Sage in imagining 
" seigneur," " Senor," and " seigneurie," " Sefioria," to be equivalent, 
and on which so much stress has been laid by M. Llorente, as proving 
that the French author must have plagiarised from a Spanish manu- 
script, without understanding what he did (see No. 2, page 8), is no 
error at all. 1 Le Sage uses the word "seigneurie" in "Gil Bias" 
twelve times : — 

i°. When speaking of the actresses who treat great lords familiarly, 
and who, far from addressing them as " Excellences, ne leur don- 
naient pas meme de la seigneurie " (bk. iii. ch. 10). 

2 . Don Rodrigo de Calderon calls Gil Bias "Seigneur de 
Santillane ; " " he," says Gil Bias, " who had never yet addressed me 
in any other way but as ' vous, sans jamais se servir du terme de 
seigneurie ' " (bk. viii. ch. 5). 

3 . Don Roger de Rada, when relating his adventures, sa>s to 
Gil Bias, " de peur d'ennuyer votre seigneurie " (bk. viii. ch. 8). 

4°. Fabricio addresses Gil Bias as " Seigneur de Santillane," and 
then as " Seigneur, I am delighted with the prosperity of your 
seigneurie ; " upon which Gil Bias replies, " Oh ! que diable ! tr£ve 
de seigneur et de seigneurie " (bk. viii. ch. 9). 

1 Llorente says distinctly about the use of the word " seigneurie : " " Lc Sage 
n'entendait pas meme ce qu'il copiait w 

Q2 



228 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

m 

5°. As love-messenger of the Prince of Spain, Gil Bias is ad- 
dressed by the Seftora Mencia as " votre seigneurie n (bk. viii. ch. 10). 

6°. Gil Bias says of himself! " Gabriel Salero thought that he had 
found in ' ma seigneurie ' the best match in Spain for his daughter " 
(bk. ix. ch. i). 

7°. Gil Bias addresses Senor Manuel Ordonez: "My friend 
Fabricio would have done much better to remain with your 
1 seigneurie ' than to cultivate poetry " (bk. x. ch. 2). 

8°. In stopping at the house of Don Alphonso de Leyva at 
Valencia, Gil Bias relates : " I found in my room a good bed, on 
which my 'seigneurie/ having laid down, fell asleep" (bk. x. ch. 5). 

9 . Joseph Navarro says to Gil Bias : " My master has promised 
to speak for you to the Count of Olivarez ' sur le bien que je lui ai 
dit de votre seigneurie ' " (bk. xi. ch. 3). 

io°. Scipio addresses Gil Bias : " You see that fortune has great 
designs on * votre seigneurie ' " (bk. xl ch. 6). 

1 1°. The dancing-master, Martin Ligero, says to Gil Bias : " I 
have been told that it is ' votre seigneurie ' who selects the masters 
for my lord Don Henry" (bk. xii. ch. 5). 

1 2 . Scipio declares to Gil Bias : " I like better a good office 
with ' votre seigneurie ' than to be again exposed to the perils of the 
sea " (bk. xii. ch. 6). 

In none of these cases can " seigneurie " mean " Senoria," a title 
only given to Spanish grandees. In the first two examples Le Sage 
uses the word rightly, as it was then employed in French for "the 
title given by the estate/' In the last ten examples he seems to apply 
this expression en riant, or for the sake of civility. 1 

(/) The anecdote about the rector of the University of Sala- 
manca (see No. 3, page 8) is certainly not in accordance with 
Spanish manners, but only demonstrates that, however careful an 
author may be, the difficulties of letting the scenes of a novel take 
place on foreign ground must some time or other induce him to 
commit an error. 

1 Richclet, in his Dictionary, defines " seigneurie " as " une terre seigneuriale," 
and quotes from Moliere's VEcole des Femmts (Act I. sc. I) Cbrysalde's lines to 
Arnolphe, who had adopted the name of Monsieur de la Souche : — 

Que diable vous a fait aussi vous aviser 

A quarante et deux ans de vous debaptiser, 

Et d'un vieux tronc pourri de votre metairie 

Vous faire dans le monde un nom de seigneurie ? 
Richelet says also, " ' seigneurie ' is used en riant, and has the same meaning as 
' signoria ' among the Italians, when they speak to a person civilly ; " and then 
he quotes from Moliere's Cocu Itnaginaire : "Tres-humble serviteur a votre 
seigneurie." 



Who wrote " Gil Bias 19 ? 229 

(g) The accusation of the many topographical errors to be found 
in " Gil Bias " (see No. 4, page 8), of which the enumeration is 
borrowed from Llorente, and which errors are partly reproduced by 
Blackwood % has been accepted by all Le Sage's defenders as true. 
But, if they had consulted two maps of Spain — a large one, " Carte 
nouvelle du royaume d'Espagne, d£di& \ Sa Majesty Catholique 
Philippe V.," Paris, 1705; and a smaller one, "L'Espagne divis&en 
tous ses royaumes, principality, etc, h. l'usage de Monseigneur le 
due de Bourgogne," Amsterdam, 17 10 — they would have found 
that Le Sage was nearly always right. Notwithstanding all that 
has been said to the contrary, Betancos, Rodillas, Grajal (bk. i. 
ch. 11), Moyados, Valpuesta (bk. ii. ch. 9), Luceno 1 (bk. iiL 
ch. 2), Villardesa and Almodabar (bk. iv. ch. 11) — spelled on 
the large map Villardssaz and Almodovar, on the small map 
Villardesaz and Almodavar— Castil Blazo 2 (bk. v. ch. 1), Llirias 
(bk. ix. ch. 10), Melilla, Toralva (bk. v. ch. 1), Ponte de Duero 
(bk. ii. ch. 8), are all in their right places and well spelt, whilst 
Almerin (bk. v. ch. 1), which ought to have been Almoharin accord- 
ing to M. Llorente, is printed so on the small map, but figures on the 
large one as " Lmorin," with the usual sign of a town before it, which 
makes it look like " Almorin." All these names were not altered in 
later editions, but are to be found in the edition of " Gil Bias n 
published in three volumes, Paris, 1721, and also in the first one in 
four volumes, Paris, 1735, except that "Carrillo" — another of Le 
Sage's supposed mis-spellings discovered by M. Llorente — was cor- 
rectly printed in the edition of 1721, but with only one r in the one 
published fourteen years later. Le Sage's Orbisa (bk. x. ch. 10) 
ought to be Cobisa. Pefiafiel is mentioned as lying on the road 
from Segovia to Valladolid (bk. x. ch. 1); "this ought to be 
Portillo," says Llorente, because Valladolid is twelve leagues from 
Pefiafiel, and therefore it is impossible to arrive there in one day." 
Portillo is certainly on the road between Valladolid and Segovia, but 
it seems not impossible to go twelve leagues when one has, like Gil 
Bias, " une chaise tirde par deux bonnes mules. M But M. Llorente 
is difficult to please. When Gil Bias leaves Oviedo, after his father's 
death, and continues his journey (bk. x, ch. 8) " \ petites journ&s," 
our Spanish critic observes that a carriage drawn by two mules ought 

1 Llorente says in his Observations : " II n'y a eu en Espagne aucun village 
du nom de Luceno." 

* Llorente writes : " Le traducteur Isla s'est permis d'omettre les mots (Castil* 
Blazo), parce qu'il savait bien qu'il n'y avait point de pays de ce nom en 
Espagne." M. Llorente does not mean by " pays " " country/ but " village." 



* 

ft £d The Gentleman s Magaeine. 

not to go at so slow a pace. The blunder of placing Alcala de 
Henarez on the road from Madrid to Segovia seems to be Le Sage's 
own. The author of the article in Blackwood asks : " If Le Sage had 
invented the story, and clothed it with names of Spanish cities and 
vill&ges, taken from printed books, can any one suppose that he 
would have fallen into all these errors?" It has been proved that 
they are not errors of Le Sage, but of M. Llorente; though, in justice 
to this gentleman, it ought to be stated that several of the towns 
mentioned by the French author are not found on modem maps. 

(h) In a novel, even a so-called historical one, errors are gene- 
rally found; how much more are these, then, to be expected in a 
tale like "Gil Bias"? Le Sage attempted to correct one of these 
errors which occurs in the history related by Don Pompeyo de Castro, 
by transferring the scene from Portugal to Poland ; " but how comes 
it to pass," asks the author of the article in Blackwood, u that Le 
Sage, who singles out with such painful anxiety the error to which we 
have adverted, suffers others of equal importance to pass altogether 
unnoticed?" (See No. 5, page 8.) This assertion is not quite 
correct, for the following notice prefaced the edition of " Gil Bias " 

of I73S "•— 

" In the third volume an epoch is mentioned (the time of the 

flight of Laura with Zendono to Portugal) which does not agree with 

the history of Don Pompeyo de Castro, to be found in the first 

volume (bk. iii. ch. 7). It appears that Philip the Second had not 

yet conquered Portugal, 1 and we see here suddenly this kingdom 

under the sway of Philip the Third, 2 without Gil Bias being much 

the older for it. This is a chronological fault which the author 

has perceived too late, but which he promises to correct later, as 

well as many others, if ever a new edition of his works should 

appear." 

He corrected this fault there and then, and left the others to be 
altered afterwards. But in 1735 Le Sage was sixty-seven years old ; 
and increasing infirmities and other literary labour probably pie- 
vented him from accomplishing what he intended. To argue from 
this — as is done in Blackwood's Magazine — that Le Sage left " to 
posterity a lasting and unequivocal proof of his plagiarism ... by 
dwelling on one anachronism as an error which he intended to 
correct, in a work swarming in every part with others equally flagrant, 
of which he takes no notice," is, to say the least of it, a general accu- 

1 The Duke of Alba conquered Portugal in 1580. (Original note of Le Sage.) 
•Philip III. began to reign in 1598, and died in 1621. (Original note of 
Le Sage.) - : 



Who wrote « Gil Bias" ? 231 

sktion which requires other proofs than the remark that these mistakes 
were those " into which the original author had fallen, and which, as 
his object was not to give an exact relation of facts, he probably 
disregarded altogether. " However, what is excusable in a Spaniard 
must equally be so in a Frenchman. 

•(*) In extenuation of the enors of Le Sage himself (see No. 6, 
page 8) may be brought forward the remark about these being 
mistakes "which the original author . . . probably disregarded 
altogether." Moreover, there is a lapse of fourteen years between 
the publication of the third and fourth volumes of " Gil Bias," and 
therefore Le Sage may well have forgotten that the hero of his novel, 
after having left the tower of Segovia, says to Don Alphonso de Leyva, 
in the third volume, that " four months ago he occupied an important 
post at Court " (bk. ix. ch. 10) ; and may have allowed Gil Bias to 
tell the king, in the first book of the fourth volume, that " he had 
been six months in prison " (bk. xi. ch. 2). That Le Sage was 
very negligent in writing his fourth volume is also proved by the 
supposed age of the hero of his novel, as compared with his birth 
and adventures, described in the first three volumes. The error 
of mentioning the dismissal of the Duke of Lerma, when Philip III. 
died, instead of saying, " the Duke of Uzeda, son of the Duke of 
Lerma," can only be accounted for by carelessness, for Le Sage 
speaks rightly of the exile of the Duke of Uzeda in another part of 
" Gil Bias" (bk. xi. ch. 5). It seems to have been a fancy of our 
author to call Valcancel Valcazar ; for the whole history of Don 
Henry de Guzman was published in many books well known at the 
time Le Sage wrote. 

(j) M. Franceson has already stated that " The Bachelor of 
Salamanca," published after " Gil Bias," is a weakened reproduction 
of this last novel. Mr. Ticknor, one of the best Spanish scholars of 
modern times, says, in his " History of Spanish Literature, " that two 
chapters of " The Bachelor " are taken from Moreto's play, " Desde'n 
con el Desde'n," whilst Sainte-Beuve maintains that several chapters 
are borrowed from Ths. Gage, the English-American, " His Travail 
by Sea and by Land ; or, a New Survey of the West Indies, contain- 
ing a Journall of three thousand and three hundred miles within the 
main land of America, etc." London, 1648, which was translated into 
French by Le Sieur de Beaulieu, H. O'Neil (i.e. A. Baillet), Paris, 
1677. It becomes therefore difficult to see how " The Bachelor " 
can have formed part of an original Spanish manuscript long in the 
possession of the Marquis de Lyonne and his son ; for a great deal of 
the French work appears to have been borrowed from printed books, 



23* The Gentleman's Magazine. 

one of them not even translated into Spanish. 1 As for "Gil 
Bias," Llorente and Blackwood both mention that two-thirds of 
this novel are taken from well-known Spanish works. If, therefore, 
Le Sage copied "Gil Bias" from a manuscript of de Solis, that 
manuscript was chiefly composed of plagiarisms, and the Spanish 
author must have been more stupid than men ordinarily are to steal 
from books so well known in Spain and to his contemporaries. More- 
over, if the " literary larcenies " committed in " Gil Bias " amount 
to so heavy a bulk, how can Le Sage have pilfered his world-famed 
novel from a manuscript ? There is not the shadow of an evidence 
that he has done so. The readers of this article will have seen how 
Le Sage became possessed of his intimate knowledge of Spain, and 
may also have perceived that his French was not quite so bad as 
M. Llorente wishes to prove it, nor that his errors were as manifold, 
and, in fact, as clearly faults of a copyist, as his literary enemies desire 
to make it out 

The life of an author is not that of a Sybarite. It is passed in 
laborious and sedentary occupations, which are generally rewarded by 
a not over-abundant pay, and cause many mental anxieties. Envy, 
hatred, and malice not seldom attack him whilst he is alive, and are 
not even silenced after his death. The career of Le Sage is no excep- 
tion to this almost general rule. He was no flatterer of the great; he 
did not attach himself to any then existing party or influential noble- 
man ; and he dared to have opinions of his own. He was not to be 
bribed, worked hard for his daily bread, and gained a mere pittance; and 
he was finally obliged, by increasing age and infirmities, to take shelter 
with his only living son, a clergyman at Boulogne-sur-Mer, where he 
died. His fame, of course, increased when he was no longer alive 
to give umbrage; but this did not prevent a few of his contemporaries 
from attacking his works, and, above all, his masterpiece, " Gil Bias." 
Voltaire and others began the fray, the Spaniards took it up through 
national vanity, and they succeeded in making some critics believe 
what they brought forward, and in making not a few literary men 
incline to the opinion that " Gil Bias " was merely a copy of a Spanish 
manuscript. If that delusion has been dispelled by the present article, 
the labour bestowed upon it has not been in vain. 

HENRI VAN LAUN. 

1 In justice to M. Llorente it ought to be stated that he says in his Obsetvatums, 
ch. i.: "On pourrait bien soutenir que Le Sage est l'auteur original d'one 
gTande partie du Bachclier, beaucoup plus qu'il ne le fut du Gil Bias. n 



*33 



ENGLISH ETHNOLOGY AND 
ENGLISH GENIUS. 

IT has been admitted by some of the most eminent philologists 
that language is a very uncertain guide in questions relating to 
race. It will probably be allowed before long that history, when 
dealing with the same questions, is as little to be relied on as lan- 
guage. As yet, however, historians have lost nothing of their 
self-confidence. For many years past Mr. Freeman has kept assuring 
us that the English are a purely Teutonic people, and his statements 
have been abundantly repeated by younger writers, such as Canon 
Stubbs and Mr. Green. This reiterated assertion has been made in 
complete disregard of the evidence accumulated by scientific men 
tending to disprove what we may call the Teutonic theory. Yet it 
is clear that history, so far from being able thus contemptuously to 
slight anthropology, will be forced to give way in the conflict which 
has now virtually arisen. Theories suggested by the statements of 
ancient monkish chronicles have a far lower degree of certainty than 
the conclusions founded on observation of the physical peculiarities 
of existing races — their stature, the shape of their skulls, or the 
colour of their hair, their eyes, and their skin. By the study of such 
facts Professor Huxley was able to show, more than nine years ago, 
that the population of Western Europe may be divided broadly into 
a dark race and a fair race, which he calls respectively the melano- 
chroic and the xanthochroic types. It had long been assumed that 
the Kelts were dark and the Teutons fair. But Professor Huxley 
pointed out that all ancient authors were agreed that Kelt and Teuton 
were both fair alike. To what race, then, does the dark type belong? 
In the attempt to find an answer to the question thus reopened, the 
attention of anthropologists was naturally directed to the Basques, a 
dark people on the slopes of the Pyrenees, who still so distinctly 
retain their unmixed nationality ; and the Silures of South Wales 
being found to resemble them closely in type, it has been generally 
assumed that the dark race of Britain belongs to this stock. Mr. 
Grant Allen, who in the Fortnightly Review for October 1880 has 



234 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

made the latest assault on the Teutonic theory, to some extent adopts 
this view. But, according to the evidence brought forward by French 
ethnologists, the dark race seems to contain a second element — the 
Ligurian — perfectly distinct from the Basque. Though, like the 
Basques, the Ligurians are small and dark, they have nevertheless 
some marked points of difference. The Basque head and face are 
long and narrow, the nose is high, and both chin and forehead are 
not unfrequently retreating. The Ligurian head and face, on the 
contrary, are short and round, the nose is small and fleshy, the chin 
is full, and the forehead round and inclined to bulge. M. de 
Boisjoslin, in his work " Les Peuples de la France," estimates that 
ten millions of the French people belong to this race. It also forms 
a strong element in the population of Northern Italy and of 
parts of Switzerland. Its identification has been delayed by the 
total loss of its original speech. On the Continent the name is 
still preserved in the Ligurian Alps and in the river Loire, formerly 
Ligur. From Britain it has now wholly vanished ; but among the 
British tribes at the time of the Saxon invasion were found the 
Logrians ; and a similar name, Liogairne, occurs in Ireland. That 
the Logrians were identical with the Ligurians of the Continent 
seems probable from the fact that the Ligurian type is distinctly 
recognisable in these islands at the present day. Mr. Grant Allen 
has unconsciously recognised it in the description, which he quotes 
from Professor Phillips, of the dark type to be found in Yorkshire 
and some of the Eastern counties. As to the distribution of the race 
in Britain, we can only say that it was probably most numerous in 
the East, the Basques or Silures prevailing in the West ; while 
mixed with both were everywhere spread the Kelts. Even now we 
have not exhausted the complications of our ethnology. But we 
can do no more at present than allude to the probability that beneath 
Kelt and Ligurian and Basque we shall have ultimately to recognise 
the presence of a fourth element of Mongolian or Eskimo type, 
possibly descended from the Cave-men who inhabited Britain during 
the last glacial epoch. 

Leaving these hypothetical strata, however, out of consideration, 
we see that the Britons were composed of at least three races — two 
of them dark, the Silurians and the Ligurians ; and one fair, the 
Kelts. Mr. Freeman tells us th^t these people were exterminated 
by Teutons in the fifth and sixth centuries throughout the greater 
part of England. But Professor Huxley is still able to divide our 
population into two principal types, the dark and the fair. Now, if 
the Teutons, who were undeniably fair, completely destroyed the 



English Ethnology and English Genius. 235 

earlier races, how comes it that there is a dark type in England at 
all ? The dark types by their presence amongst us tell the story of 
their own -survival, and testify to a fact which it might otherwise have 
been hard to prove. The true Kelt, being himself fair, can with 
difficulty be distinguished from the Teuton in our existing popula- 
tion ; but the dark Briton having survived, we cannot suppose that 
the fair Briton perished ; so that while the whole of our dark stock 
is non-Teutonic, so also is perhaps one-half of our fair stock, and 
only the remaining half of the latter is really of Teutonic descent. 

If such be the case, we are driven to ask whether Mr. Freeman 
can possibly have misinterpreted the documentary evidence. Several 
writers have laboured with considerable success to show that this is 
the case. Dr. Nicholas, in his elaborate work " The Pedigree of the 
English People," proved that the History of Gildas, on which so 
much reliance is placed by upholders of the Teutonic theory, is en- 
tirely untrustworthy. Mr. Skene, in his " Keltic Scotland/' has pro- 
duced further evidence tending to establish Professor Huxley's views. 
Mr. Grant Allen — using the word Keltic, as we shall find it convenient 
henceforward to use it, to designate the composite pre-Saxon race — 
has shown that the South-Western Keltic area extends along the 
southern coast far enough to the east to include Hampshire. He has 
adduced evidence for believing that many other Western and West- 
Midland counties are either Keltic or half-Keltic in blood ; while the 
important North- Western counties are also peopled chiefly by the same 
stock. He urges further the neglected fact that the Keltic element 
has, in addition to its original strength throughout the West, received 
continual reinforcements from Wales ; and that into the great manu- 
facturing towns of the North, as well as into London, there is a 
constant influx of Kelts from Wales, Ireland, and the Highlands of 
Scotland. According to his estimates, the population of London is 
recruited to the extent of 30 per cent from English counties that are 
almost wholly Keltic, such as Devon and Somerset. 

In addition to these arguments we would urge the following 
considerations. It is clear that the Teutonic conquest of these 
islands was much less complete than the previous Keltic conquest 
In the- earliest times of which we know anything the Keltic speech 
had penetrated into every corner of Britain and Ireland, and had 
completely driven out the earlier tongues. The races, however, who 
spoke those tongues had not been destroyed. Now, English, in spite 
of all its advantages as the language of a great civilised empire, has 
but recently replaced Keltic in Cornwall,has as yet failed to establish 
itself in many parts of Scotland and of Ireland, and has hardly gained 



236 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

ground at all in Wales. In connection with these facts let us note 
at what a late period Wales was finally conquered, the Saxons even 
under Egbert having been unable to accomplish the task. But if 
all England up to the Welsh mountains had been occupied by a 
homogeneous Teutonic population, can we believe that Wales would 
not have been at once overwhelmed, and that the Keltic name and 
language would not have been completely obliterated ? The Saxons 
were evidently not strong enough really to colonise the western half 
of England ; they were able only to conquer it and occupy detached 
positions sufficient for that purpose. With regard to the West 
generally, we may sum up by saying, in Professor Huxley's words, 
that it is probably more Keltic as a whole than Ireland itself. 

Assuming this result to be established, it becomes an interesting 
question whether there can be traced any indications of difference, 
either in the character or in the amount of the genius manifested • by 
the Keltic and the Teutonic sections of the island. Mr. Allen has 
already done something for the Western section by the list he has 
given of the great men produced by Devonshire. We propose now 
to offer a more extended list of our most eminent men, showing to 
what parts of the kingdom they belong. Before beginning, it will be 
well to note that natives of London, the population of which is col- 
lected from all parts of the country, must be classed as " uncertain," 
except when we happen actually to know from what part of the 
country their parents came, in which case we shall of course treat 
them as belonging to those parts of the country to which their origin 
attaches them. 

Let us begin with our ecclesiastics. Here, out of a list of thirty 
eminent men, four are Londoners; twenty, including Jeremy Taylor (a 
native of Cambridge) and Wesley (a Lincolnshire man), are Eastern ; 
while six only are Western. These latter, however, include Hooker, 
of Devonshire birth, and Whitfield, a native of Gloucestershire. But 
the fact of Eastern superiority is here too plain to be disputed. 
Perhaps we may see in it some evidence of the piety and seriousness 
of the Teutonic race. 

Next let us turn to the politicians. Here it is, of course, possible 
only to quote a very few names. Many of our eminent states- 
men were of noble families, so that it is impossible to assign them 
with certainty to any one part of the country. Among such as we 
can speak of with certainty, Cardinal Wolsey was a native of Suffolk, 
Strafford of Yorkshire, and Walpole of Norfolk. A greater than any 
of these, Cromwell, will by many be set down at once to the credit of 
the East, as a native of the Fen country. But this is not at all certain. 



English Ethnology and English Genius. 237 

It may be seen from Mr. Carlyle's account of his family that doubts 
arise whether he was not half Welsh ; and it was apparently a matter 
of accident that the family did not bear the Welsh name of Williams. 
Of undoubtedly Western origin are Chatham, a Cornishman, and 
Fox, who belonged to Dorset ; while, coming down to the present 
century, we find that Canning was Irish, that Peel was a Lancashire 
man (as is also Mr. Bright), and that Mr. Gladstone, born in Liver- 
pool of Scotch parents, is of an order of genius very different from 
that which we are accustomed to regard as Teutonic 

Many of the men distinguished in Indian history might be 
classed both as soldiers and statesmen. Of these, one of the most 
illustrious, Clive, was a native of Shropshire. Along with him may 
be mentioned Warren Hastings, a statesman pure and simple, a native 
of Worcestershire. But our Indian heroes are so numerous that we 
cannot give an extended list. Mr. Allen says that half of them were 
Highland Scotch. If we apply to Mr. Froude, we shall learn that 
the other half were Irish. 

Of our naval and military commanders generally, Nelson, born 
in Norfolk, bears a plainly Scandinavian name, while Wolfe was a 
native of Kent But on the Western side Devonshire claims not 
only the greater part of the sea-captains and explorers of Elizabeth's 
reign — Drake, Hawkins, Sir Richard Grenville, and Sir Walter 
Raleigh — but also the greatest genius for war that England has 
produced, Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, born near Axminster. 
Blake, as great a seaman as Nelson, belongs to Somerset As to the 
Duke of Wellington, we need hardly mention that he was Irish. 

In science, the greatest name perhaps of all, that of Newton, is 
the property of the Scandinavian shire of Lincoln, though it must 
be observed that Newton believed himself to be of Scotch descent. 
Harvey was a native of Kent. Among men now living, Professor 
Huxley belongs by birth to Middlesex, and Sir J. Hooker to Norfolk. 
Faraday, too, was born in London ; his father came from Yorkshire, 
but whether from the eastern or western side of the county we can- 
not say. The undoubtedly Western names include Roger Bacon the 
monk, a native of Somerset ; Thomas Young, discoverer of the 
undulatory theory of light, born in the same county ; Sir Humphry 
Davy in Cornwall, Dr. Jenner in Gloucestershire, Dalton in Cumber- 
land, and Clifford in Devonshire ; while of men still living in our 
midst, Mr. Justice Grove belongs to Glamorgan, Dr. Carpenter to 
Somerset, Mr. Adams, the astronomer, to Cornwall, Messrs. Jevons 
and Joule to Lancashire, Mr. A. R. Wallace to Monmouthshire, 
and Mr. Darwin to Shropshire, his name — Keltic, as Mr. Allen tells 



238 The GetUlemaris Magazine. \- 

us — fairly balancing the fact that his grandfather came from Notting- 
ham. Lest we should appear to overlook them, we must add that 
Ireland claims Sir William Rowan Hamilton, the great mathematician, 
and Dr. Tyndall, the well-known physicist. 

In philosophy we had better first mention the non- English names. 
Berkeley was Irish, while Hume and Adam Smith were Scotch, as 
was also Mr. Mill by immediate descent. Mr. Bain, of course, is 
also Scotch. Of the properly English names, Bacon, of Suffolk family 
on his father's side, was at least partly Western in blood, as his mother 
was one of the Cecils, who trace their origin to Herefordshire. 
Hartley was a native of Yorkshire, Malthus of Surrey, and Bentham 
of London (and so uncertain). Mr. Herbert Spencer comes from 
Derbyshire. To the West belong Hobbes, a native of Wiltshire ; 
Locke and Cudworth, natives of Somerset ; also the late Mr. Bagehot, 
a native of the same county. Amongst living writers, Mr. Galton 
belongs by birth to Warwickshire, and Mr. John Morley and Mr. 
Greg are both Lancashire men. 

Some of the names just mentioned might perhaps have been 
better included in the general class of men of letters ; among whom, 
at all events, we may rank Lamb, of Lincolnshire descent, and Hazlitt, 
a native of Kent. On the other hand, Sir Thomas Browne, Addison, 
Dr. Johnson, and De Quincey are all Western. Of the historians, 
Gibbon and Grote are both Kentish, but the latter was on his father's 
side of Flemish, on his mother's of Huguenot, extraction. Macaulay, 
of Highland Scotch descent on his father's side, had a Somersetshire 
mother. Mr. Froude is a native of Devon ; Mr. Freeman himself of 
the somewhat Western shire of Worcester. 

Of our artists the greatest, perhaps — Turner — was, unfortunately, 
a Londoner ; as were also Cruikshank and Blake. To Suffolk belong 
both Gainsborough and Constable ; to Yorkshire, Flaxman and 
Etty. Devonshire, on the other hand, claims Sir J. Reynolds ; and 
Hogarth was of Westmoreland extraction. Sir Christopher Wren 
was a native of Wiltshire. An enumeration of our living painters 
would occupy too much space, and would for many reasons be un- 
satisfactory. In the list given, East and West are perhaps equally well 
represented. 

We now come to the novelists. Defoe was born in London, and 
does not count. Richardson was a native of Derbyshire; Sterne, 
born in Ireland, was of Suffolk family ; and the late Lord Lytton 
belongs to Norfolk. But the array of Western names is much more 
imposing. It includes Fielding, a native of Somerset ; Miss Burney, 
born in Norfolk, but of Shropshire family; together with' Miss 



English Ethnology and English Genius. 239 

Austen, Dickens, and Mr. George Meredith, all natives of Hamp- 
shire — a Keltic county, as Mr. Alien has shown. Thackeray bore an 
unmistakably Keltic name. Keltic also, or at least Welsh, is Evans, 
the maiden name of George Eliot, who by birth belonged to Warwick- 
shire. Mrs. Gaskell was a native of Lancashire. Mr. Hardy comes 
from Dorset ; Mr. Blackmore from Devon. The Brontes, though 
natives of Yorkshire, were Irish on their father's side, and Cornish 
on their mother's, thus showing a doubly Keltic origin. 

Finally we come to the poets, whom it will be well to treat 
a little more minutely than our other men of genius. If we examine 
the contributions to English poetry made by that large portion of 
the country comprised in the counties of Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, 
Middlesex (outside London), Herts, Bucks, Bedford, Cambridge, 
Northampton, Huntingdon, Rutland, and Leicester, we shall be 
struck in the first place by the meagreness of the results of our 
search, and by the peculiar quality of the poetry which we find. The 
greatest poetic name that meets us is that of Dryden, who was of 
remote Westmoreland descent. The other names are Beaumont, 
Waller, Cowper, Crabbe, and Churchill. Is it necessary to make 
any comment ? We see at once what pure Teutonic poetry is like. 
North and south, however, of this East-Anglian province, Eastern 
England makes a better show. Kent and Sussex boast respectively 
Marlowe and Shelley. Lincolnshire has given us Tennyson, and 
Northumberland Swinburne. So much for the East The following 
great names cannot be reckoned on either side : — Chaucer, whose 
birthplace is unknown, and Spenser, Pope, Gray, and Keats, who 
were all born in London. Now let us look at our Western list It 
comprises, first, Shakespeare, for Stratford-on-Avon, situated in the 
south-western corner of Warwickshire, is very much nearer to the 
Welsh border than to the German Sea ; secondly, Milton of Oxford- 
shire and therefore somewhat more Eastern race on his father's side, 
but whose mother Johnson states to have been of Welsh family. 
Then, proceeding chronologically, we have a number of minor but 
illustrious names : — Herrick, a native of Devonshire ; Congreve, of 
Staffordshire family ; Samuel Butler (author of " Hudibras "), a native 
of Worcestershire ; Prior, of Dorsetshire ; and Chatterton, of Somerset 
Finally we reach the modern poets, among whom we find Byron, 
Keltic by his mother, who was Highland Scotch, and by his grand- 
mother who was Cornish ; Coleridge, a native of Devonshire ; Southey 
of Somerset ; Wordsworth of Cumberland ; Landor of Warwickshire ; 
E. B. Browning of Herefordshire ; and Robert Browning of Dorsetshire 
origin. And if we make an excursion northwards into Scotland, it fa 



240 T/ie Gentleman's Magazine. 

chiefly near the Western coast that we shall find the poets — Burns 
in Ayrshire, Campbell in Glasgow, and Carlyle — if one may include 
him as a poet — in Dumfriesshire. 

Possibly, however, it will be urged that many of these poets can- 
not be Keltic ; that their genius is too plainly Teutonic in character 
to allow of its being a matter of any consequence in what part of the 
island they happened to be born. Perhaps so. The easterly wind which, 
according to the German Professor, carried the soul of Shakespeare 
beyond Germany, blew so hard, no doubt, that it did not suffer him 
to alight even in any truly Teutonic English shire. The explanation, 
too, has the merit of being applicable to all the remaining cases, 
which would otherwise be so perplexing ; and thus we can see that a 
Crabbe, not having any very ample extent of pinion, is glad to drop 
down on the first land that comes in sight, while a Coleridge is borne 
onwards almost to the Western sea ; and that one or two others, more 
soaring than Crabbe, were born in the East is doubtless due to the fact 
that they were caught in a sudden south-western blast ; and, as on 
Dartmoor, 

The north wind brings us rain, 
The south wind blows it back again ; 

so were they, when about to descend in the West, blown back into 
Kent or Lincolnshire. 

Plausible, however, as this theory is, there are some who have 
ventured to reject it. Mr. Matthew Arnold, in his work on the Study 
of Keltic Literature, endeavoured, with a good deal of success, to 
show that the Keltic element in the English genius was far more 
considerable than was generally suspected. This he did principally 
by comparing Welsh and Irish literature with English and German 
poetry, and by showing that English and Keltic literature have many 
characteristics in common which are foreign to the German. Now, 
from which of our poets did Mr. Arnold take his examples of what 
he pronounces to be outcomes of the Keltic spirit in our tongue ? 
From Shakespeare and Milton, from Wordsworth and Keats, from 
Byron and Campbell. But Mr. Arnold had no theory as to one part 
of the country being more Keltic than another ; and therefore the 
coincidence is somewhat remarkable that all these poets except 
Keats, a Londoner, should either be Western, or wholly or partly 
Highland Scotch. And if it be objected that Mr. Arnold takes 
examples from Southey of what he calls the Teutonic spirit, we may 
say that the weight of this solitary exception can hardly be great It 
would, further, be easy to carry the war into the enemy's country. 



English Ethnology and English Genius. 241 

Several of the most illustrious Eastern poets are of aristocratic 
families, far more likely to have crossed their blood with that 
of localities distant from their own than the humbler stocks 
from which, in the majority of cases, the Western poets have 
sprung. 

Let us now consider briefly the general results of our enumeration* 
One thing is clear. The notion of Teutonic superiority is emphatic- 
ally negatived. If, as we once heard said, the intellect of England 
were Teutonic, not Keltic, there ought to be some unmistakable 
sign of this in the superior manifestations of genius made by the 
East, and in a corresponding inferiority in the West We ought to 
find our Bceotia in Devonshire, our Attica in Norfolk or Essex But 
it is a result the reverse of this that we have reached. Our Attica, 
if it is to be found anywhere, must be sought for in the West 
Perhaps, also, it may not be without significance to those who can «. 
look at the matter without prejudice, that the two most brilliant 
Eastern counties, Kent and Lincoln, 1 still retain their Keltic names. 
However this may be, we think it is impossible to deny that in 
poetry and imaginative literature the superiority of the West is decided, 
or that the West in general can boast more various kinds of genius 
than the East, while inferior in none that are common to both. 
And if it should be urged that at least the political capacity of 
Britain is wholly Teutonic, we would draw attention to the fact that 
as it was an Irish tribe that gave a name to Scotland and made of 
it a kingdom, so in the south it was the more than half-Keltic 
Wessex, not East Anglia or Northumbria, that rose to supremacy 
among the states of the Heptarchy. 

This general result is one which all thoughtful men should surely 
welcome. The habit which has so long prevailed of setting down 
everything great and glorious in England to the credit of the Teuton 
has not been productive of any good that we are aware of. The 
supposed superiority of the Teuton has, on the contrary, been con- 
tinually made a ground for despising the Welsh and the Irish, and 
it must be considered to have done much to foster ill-will among the 
nationalities of the kingdom. It has been continually appealed to in 
politics as an excuse for perpetuating misgovernment ; and even a 

writer like Mr. Cliffe Leslie resorts to it for an explanation in part of 

• 
1 Lincoln is of course only half Keltic, Coin being Latin derived from 
Colonia. But it must be noted that in this case, as well as in all others in which 
names of places of Latin origin still survive, the value from an ethnological 
point of view is as great as if the name were Keltic. The Roman name could 
only have been learnt by the Saxons from Kelts. 
vol. CCL. NO, 1802. R 



242 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

« 

the more disturbed condition of Western as compared with Eastern 
Ireland, forgetting that there have been many times when the East 
was troubled while the West was tranquil But the explanation is 
one that should be resorted to only in the last extremity. It is 
worthy only of fatalists who want an excuse for folding their hands 
and doing nothing. The characteristics of race are in any case 
facts which we must accept, for we cannot change them. Let us 
make certain, before we despair, that they are as unfavourable as we 
have been hastily taught to believe. 

W. LARMINIE. 



243 



SCIENCE NOTES. 

The Conversion of Smoke into Wealth. 

SCIENCE is still doing battle with the arch enemy of London 
and all our British cities. If popular intelligence and civic 
organisation were level with scientific effort, the smoke-fiend would 
be exorcised forthwith, and his annual slaughter of the poorer 
victims of bronchial irritability, and his expatriation of wealthy 
sufferers, would cease ! Ornamental architecture would become 
possible in English towns, and trees and garden plants might flourish 
in them as in countries where wood fuel is used. 

I have already described the device of Dr. Siemens, which 
succeeds completely when fairly carried out. It can be carried out 
by private individual effort. Another equally effectual scheme has 
been proposed and ably advocated by Mr. Scott Moncrieff, but this 
demands corporate action, which will be a great advantage where 
capable corporations exist, but is not so hopeful in our metropolis, 
the government of which is so complex and indefinite. 

A few preliminary explanations are desirable in order to render 
Mr. MoncriefFs scheme fully intelligible. 

When ordinary coal is heated in a closed vessel like a gas retort, 
" destructive distillation " occurs, a distillation unlike that which takes 
place when water is similarly heated. The water is simply converted 
into vapour of water, which when cooled returns to its former con- 
dition of liquid water. The vapours or gases given off by the 
distillation of coal are not vapours of coal, though vapours from 
coal ; they have a different composition from coal, and cannot by 
any artificial effort be restored to the condition of coal. They are 
very various, and not exactly alike for any two successive periods 
during the distillation. First of all comes vapour of water, mingled 
with more or less of ammoniacal and tarry matters. These vary 
with the temperature. Then comes inflammable gas and tarry or 
naphthalic vapours, with less water and ammonia ; a mixture that 
burns with a lurid smoky flame, depositing great quantities of soot. 
As the distillation proceeds, the quantity of water and ammonia 

R 2 



244 The Gentlematis MagazitU. 

diminishes, and the gaseous products become less carbonaceous ; the" 
tarry and naphthalic products also diminish, and finally cease to come 
over, the gas becomes lighter, still less carburetted, and has much 
smaller illuminating power when refined. If the process is continued 
long enough, and the temperature is sufficiendy high, a gas is at last 
obtained that will burn only with a blue flame like that of a spirit 
lamp. 

One of the means by which we may be, and have been, victimised 
by the gas companies, is founded on the difference of products. 
Just when the weather is foggy and we require more and better gas, 
the distillation may be pushed on into the stage at which great 
deterioration of gas takes place ; a larger volume of inferior gas is 
thus produced from a given charge of coal. I say that this has been 
and may be done, but do not assert that it is always done, knowing 
that some of the gas companies keep a supply of rich cannel in 
winter stock, in order to meet the fog demand. This cannel yields 
much more gas with given plant and labour than ordinary coal, and 
it has a higher illuminating power. By its means the customary 
average quality is obtainable by admixture with the weak gas above 
described. 

Mr. Moncrieff proposes that all the coal to be used in great 
towns shall first pass through the gas works, not to be distilled down 
to dry coke as at present, but to be partially distilled. 

Taking, for example, a sample of coal capable of yielding 10,000 
cubic feet of gas per ton, he would stop the distillation at one-third 
of that quantity, but pass three times as much through a given 
number of retorts. The result of doing so, he says, " is startling." 

In the first place, the companies will have double the quantity of 
tar and ammoniacal liquor, and we shall have 24-candle gas instead 
of 16-candle gas, the first hydrocarbon products having so much 
more carbon than those run off later, and consequently burning so 
much more brilliantly when purified. 

The semi-coke remaining behind will light more readily than raw 
coal, and far more so than exhausted coke. Every skilled housemaid 
knows this, and accordingly, in " laying " a fire, selects partially 
burned coal to place next to the wood. It will give out more heat 
than raw coal — 20 per cent, more, Mr. Moncrieff states — and make 
a more cheerful fire without smoking. 

This difference is due to the removal' of the bulk of the water, 
ammonia, and those heavy tar products which, as above stated, burn 
in their unpurified state with such a lurid, smoky, and sooty flame. 
The domestic combustion will commence after the smoke-producing 



Science Notes. 245 

materials have been withdrawn from the coal, and when the 
brilliant stage with which we are all familiar when a fire has well 
" burnt up n is reached. 

Mr. Moncrieff estimates the total consumption of London at six 
millions of tons per annum, two millions of that being consumed at 
the gas works ; one million of which is resold as coke, and 20,000 
millions of cubic feet as 16-candle gas. 

Upon the basis of these figures he shows that under his scheme 
the saving to the public, due to improved quality of gas (from 1 6 to 24 
candles), will amount to ;£ 1,7 5 0,000 per annum in London, allowing 
31. 6d. per 1,000 feet as the average price. 

The gain in tar products and ammoniacal liquors is estimated at 
^375,000. Adding to these the nett gain upon the fuel, gives a 
total balance in favour of Mr. MoncriefTs scheme of ;£ 2, 12 5,000 
annually, which, as he says, " may be taken as the yearly value of 
London smoke," which he proposes " to convert into useful products 
by the plant at present in use" 

I have not troubled the reader with the details of the figures 
upon which this remarkable conclusion is based, but may add that 
I have examined them critically, and believe them to be substantially 
correct, if we say two millions after allowing for extra wages of retort 
chargers, and incidentals connected with the storage and redelivery 
of the semi-coke by the gas companies. This conclusion is based 
upon some practical experience in the commercial distillation of 
coal. 

The saving effected by cleansing the atmosphere of London, 
and mitigating the density and insalubrity of its fogs, by withdrawing 
the irritant tar film that coats their particles and gives them their 
pea-soup character as distinguished from white country mists (see 
"Gentleman's Magazine" of November last, page 631), is not so 
easily calculated, as the value of personal health and comfort, and 
architectural and general cleanliness, is so differently estimated by 
different people. Very cheap at ten millions, say I ! 

The only objection I see to this scheme is that, in London, it 
would confer too much power on the gas companies whose monopoly 
needs curtailment or abolition rather than extension. Most of the 
great towns of the North make their own gas and supply their own 
water, as all civilised communities should do. These are in a 
position to carry out this great public reform, and simultaneously 
diminish the local taxation by the aid of the additional gas profits. 

The Corporation Gas Works of Birmingham are managed very 
energetically and ably. I lately witnessed a fine display of gas 



246 The Gentleman's Magazine. 



lighting around the Town Hall and before the Midland Institute and 
the Corporation buildings. It was far superior to our electric lighting 
of the Thames Embankment. This was due to the greater illu- 
minating power of the gas and to the arrangement of burners, &c 
Jet for jet of given construction, and consuming equal quantity ot 
gas, the citizens of Birmingham obtain 30 or 40 per cent more light 
than we do. Mr. MoncrierT's scheme would give us 50 per cent, 
more. 

Let us hope that this and some of the great Yorkshire and 
Lancashire towns that have already taught us how we may profitably 
supply ourselves with gas will, by means of their corporate gas works, 
show us practically how to purify our dirty atmosphere, and to 
convert its dirt into substantial wealth. 

A Vegetable Substitute for Gastric Juice. 

THE pepsin of pigs which is prepared for the use of dyspeptic 
sufferers appears to have some actual power in assisting digestion, 
but it is very costly, and, like most costly things, is liable to adultera- 
tions, on account of the temptations presented by high prices. 
Besides these, it cannot be agreeable to sensitive people to be thus 
dependent upon the secretions of a pig's stomach. 

There is some prospect of a cheaper substitute being found, and 
one that can give rise to no unsavoury reflections. 

M. Bouchot, in a paper recently read at the Academy of Sciences, 
describes some experiments made with the milky juice obtainable 
from common fig-trees, some of which he collected in Provence in 
April last. He mixed one-sixth of an ounce of this substance in a 
partially coagulated, syrupy, sticky state, with two ounces of distilled 
water. To this he added one-third of an ounce of lean meat, 
keeping the mixture at about the heat of the body. In less than 
twenty-four hours the meat was completely digested, leaving only a 
white pulpy residue. More and more meat was added to this same 
mixture, till the total quantity reached ninety grammes — a little 
more than three ounces. Each successive quantity was, like the 
first, completely digested in twenty-four hours, and left a similar 
residue. The liquid showed no signs of fermentation or putrefaction. 

Four months have elapsed since the reading of this paper, but, 
as far as I am aware, no further notice has been taken of it in the 
form of practical application. The subject appears to me to be 
worthy of very serious attention and exhaustive research. If the 



Science Notes. 247 

juice of the fig-tree can thus effect digestion, it is notable that the 
juices of many other trees may do likewise, the fig-tree being only 
one member of a large natural order ; all trees exude more or less 
of juices which, when partially coagulated by drying, form a "white 
sticky resinous aromatic coagulation," like that upon which M. Bouchot 
made his experiments. 

It is in the spring time that this exudation is most active, and the 
investigation should be followed up at once. As there is nothing 
offensive in the diluted juice of a tree or a bush, and no decom- 
position accompanies the solution of the meat, the dyspeptic patient 
might have his dinner wholly or partially digested before eating it, 
provided the solvent action of the vegetable juice is as much like 
chymification as it appears. 

Fusion of Steel by Atmospheric Collision. 

WHEN I was a wondering boy, and revelled in the glories of the 
Polytechnic as it was, one of the daily repeated experi- 
ments was the cutting of hard steel with soft iron. A smooth-edged 
disc of soft iron was made to revolve with great velocity, and a large, 
thick steel file, or rasp, was pressed against its edge. A magnificent 
volley of brilliant sparks was shot forth in the direction of the motion 
of the edge of the disc, and a deep wide notch was speedily cut in 
the hard file. 

This experiment has lately been revived in America, but on a 
taller scale, of course, and coupled with a startling theory and a new 
name, viz. " Reese's Fusing Disc." This disc is 42 inches in dia- 
meter. The old Polytechnic disc, as nearly as I can remember, was 
between 12 and 18 inches. Reese's disc is said to make 2,300 
revolutions per minute, giving a peripheral velocity of 25,000 feet 
per minute. I do not remember the velocity of the Polytechnic disc. 
It was, however, very great, and its action resulted from its great 
velocity. Rails, whether of iron or steel, are now commonly cut to 
their required lengths by means of a rapidly rotating circular saw. 
The cutting through of a full-sized rail is effected in two or three 
seconds, and a brilliant display of sparks accompanies the operation. 

Mr. Reese states that if a circular bar of steel be made to turn 
in a lathe, so that the direction of its surface motion shall be opposed 
to that of the disc, the steel is cut through by an act of fusion ; and 
that this fusion is not effected by any friction between the actual 
surfaces of the two metals, but by the air between them. He bases 
this conclusion on the measurements he has made, showing that a 



248 The Gentletnatis Magazine. 

disc only ^th of an inch in thickness cuts a groove which is -^ 
wide, leaving a clear space of ^th of an inch on each side of the 
disc By carefully adjusting the disc-mandril on firm centres, and 
with similar adjustment of the bar, so that there should be no shake 
between them, it is easy to ascertain whether there is any similar 
space between the edge of the disc and the bottom of the groove. 
Mr. Reese has done this, and finds there is a clear space of one- 
eighth of an inch. 

This appears very surprising, and has already provoked some 
scepticism. I do not share the scepticism, nor even the surprise, 
having made several experiments, proving that many substances carry 
with them an obstinately adhering film of air, which probably exists 
in a state of considerable condensation upon their surfaces. One of 
my favourite class experiments (an original one, and I believe new 
when I first made it 25 years ago) was to take a card and hold one 
side of it above the flame of a candle until it became blackened, 
leave it to cool, and then immerse it in a tumbler of water. Viewed 
obliquely, the black side appears like burnished silver. This is due 
to an adherent film of air, the stubborn adhesion of which is proved 
by the fact that the card may remain for some hours in the water, 
and when withdrawn is perfectly dry. The silvery appearance is 
due to the fact that light cannot pass from water into air at angles 
exceeding a certain degree of obliquity without stultifying the mathe- 
matics of its refrangibility by these media. Rather than do this it 
turns back, and is totally reflected more completely than from a plate of 
burnished metal. To prove this, take a tumbler filled with water, 
hold it above the level of the eye, and try to look obliquely through 
the water at any object in the air above. You will utterly fail to 
see it 

Another experiment shows how air adheres to iron. Take some 
iron filings, sprinkle them lightly on the surface of water, and they 
remain there in spite of their density. Or take a needle or piece of 
thin sheet-iron and drop it evenly and carefully on a water surface. 
It remains there apparently floating, but not truly, as may be seen by 
looking along the water surface. Each grain of the filings, or the 
needle, or strip, lies in a depression of the water surface. They have 
partially sunk, but in doing so have carried with them a small 
adhering atmosphere of their own, which buoys them sufficiently to 
prevent immersion and further sinking. Many other experiments of 
similar kind may be made, proving that air adheres to iron, and that 
its removal demands some time and force. The effect o time is 
shown by the difference of friction between two f moQtb iron HP> 



Science Notes. 249 

faces at the first moment of contact, and after they have pressed 
upon each other for a few minutes. At first they slide, as though 
admirably lubricated, but presently obtain a frictional grip. The 
lubricant was the film of air adhering to each, and requiring some 
time for its expulsion. 

This condensed adhering atmosphere, moving at the rate of 
25,000 feet per minute with the edge of the disc, and meeting 
another similar atmosphere of the oppositely rotating steel bar, and 
both striking each other, must produce a tremendous condensation 
at the meeting-place immediately between the two surfaces. Now, 
we know that when air is suddenly condensed it evolves an amount 
of heat proportionate to the condensation, this being sufficient in 
the case of the common experiment of the fire syringe worked by 
simple hand pressure to reach a full red heat The condensation in 
this case must vastly exceed this, and, as it appears to me, fully 
explains the superficial fusion of the steel, and the fact that this 
occurs without actual contact of the metallic surfaces. 

Mr. Reese offers an explanation, attributing the fusion to the air, 
which, " by virtue of the motion of the disc, is thrown outward in 
radial lines and is projected from the periphery." Of course I 
consider that my own explanation, as given above, is better than 
this. If I am right, the experiment affords an interesting artificial 
modification of what happens when a ferruginous aerolite visits our 
wdrld. It strikes our atmosphere with such velocity that the colli- 
sion fuses its outer surface, as may be seen by examination of the 
splendid collection of these mysterious visitors in the British 
Museum. 

There is one element of fact which I think requires some further 
examination. Mr. Reese states that when the revolving bar is thus 
cut through, the fragments discharged are metallic iron or steel, and 
not oxide. I find it impossible to believe this, knowing what in all 
other cases happens to small particles of fused iron or steel when 
exposed to the air. They become wholly or partially (according to 
their size) converted into magnetic oxide. This oxide is so much 
like metallic iron that Mr. Reese's description may be a mistake — 
one that may easily be made, if the mere outward appearance of the 
fused globules and their obedience to the magnet be relied upon. 

The directors of the Polytechnic will do well to rummage 
among their stores to find, if possible, their old disc and set it 
spinning again, as the interest in the subject has been revived by 
Mr. Reese's experiments. 



250 The Gentlemaris Magazine. 

Arsenic as a Pig-Fattener. 

ARSENIC and antimony are two metals very closely allied to 
each other. They are in fact chemical twins, both as regards 
their chemical relations and the physiological and general properties 
of their compounds. 

A weird story is told of Basil Valentine, the celebrated chemical 
and alchemical abbot, who discovered the metal antimony about 400 
years ago. He was in search of the great arcanum, the essence of 
metals, the aurum potabilc, the drinkable gold, the zoedone of the 
period, by means of which the hunjan body should acquire the 
imperishable properties of the king of metals, and thereby become 
immortal. His discovery of a new metal produced from compounds 
hitherto supposed to have no metallic constituents seemed like a 
step in the direction of the eagerly-desired transmutation, and he 
accordingly tried how it operated upon the monastery pigs, by mixing 
it cautiously with their food. 

They flourished, their hides grew fair and sleek, their eyes more 
brilliant, and they fattened charmingly. This success encouraged 
him to take one step further by adding a similar condiment to 
the rations of the monks. They improved like the pigs, especially 
in complexion and plumpness. He, therefore, increased the dose, 
until at last it proved fatal to a considerable number. As there 
were no newspapers in those times, the precise amount of that number 
is not reliably recorded, but it was sufficient to give to the new 
metal the name of " antimoine" i.e. "antimonk," which it still retains, 
and which clings to it more tenaciously than its Latin name stibium. 

Horse-dealers, dog-fanciers, and others, still use it for improving 
the apparent condition of their wares, and it is hinted that prizes 
have been obtained at horse and cattle shows by its aid. I should 
add that this statement comes from disappointed candidates, not 
from the prize-takers themselves. 

Arsenic has been similarly used in preparing bipeds for the 
matrimonial market, and we are told that the Styrian peasants take 
it habitually ; the women for improving their complexions and 
plumpness, and the men to improve their "wind" when ascending 
steep mountain slopes. The use of arsenic is common among grooms 
and coachmen in Vienna. They believe it to give a glossy and 
sleek appearance to the coats of horses, and when a small piece of 
the white oxide is tied up in a piece of linen and attached to the bit, 
it produces that foaming at the mouth which some people admire. 

The subject has been recently investigated in Germany by C. Gies. 



Science Notes. 251 

He experimented on rabbits, fowls, and pigs, by mixing with their 
food constantly increasing quantities of arsenic acid. This was 
continued for four months, and all the animals became fatter. The 
growth of bone was constant in the younger animals ; and in cases 
where the bones would otherwise have been spongy, they became 
compact. Stall-fed animals displayed these results very remarkably. 
The arsenic was freely given out through the skin and the lungs ; full- 
grown animals displayed a fatty condition of the muscles of the heart, 
liver, kidneys, and spleen, and an increase of the more superficial 
fatty deposits. When the doses were further increased, symptoms of 
chronic poisoning commenced. These experiments confirm the 
experience of Basil Valentine, the horse-dealers and the grooms ; but 
whether it will pay the hog-growers of Chicago to improve their exports 
by this application of economic science is doubtful. Fortunately for 
their customers, the pig can only take a limited quantity, and this" is 
altogether insufficient to do any damage to those who afterwards eat 
him, as the largest eatable quantity of roast pork, ham, or bacon 
cannot contain enough of the drug to have any perceptible effect 
upon the human pork-eater. 

The mode of action of arsenic in the animal body is still an open 
subject. It is supposed to act by checking the natural waste and 
diminishing oxidation : thus some of the carbonaceous products that 
would otherwise be oxidised and carried away as carbonic acid 
remain, and are deposited as fat ; and the checking of oxidation 
gives less work for the lungs, and thereby enables the climber to do 
with less oxygen or less respiratory effort. 

The well-established fact that a small quantity of arsenic acid 
checks animal decomposition so effectually that it is used by 
ornithologists for preserving the skins of birds favours this view. 
I have seen Mr. Gould filling the skulls of some of his " Birds of 
Europe " with cotton-wool dusted with arsenic, after the brain was 
imperfectly removed, and lightly dusting the inside of the recently 
removed skins with the arsenic. He assured me that nothing else is 
so effectual, and that skins thus prepared may be packed together 
and preserved in any climate for an indefinite length of time. I 
should add, by way of precaution to amateur naturalists, that if a 
small quantity comes in contact with a slight cut in the liand, or even 
where the skin has been grazed, the consequences are serious — may 
even be fatal. 

W. MATTIEU WILLIAMS. 



252 The Gentleman's Magazine. 



TABLE TALK. 

I HAVE before me a copy of Mr. Ruskin's collected newspaper 
letters, issued in two sumptuous volumes, under the fanciful 
title of " Arrows of the Chace," and edited by an Oxford pupil. 
Unlike Mr. Ruskin's other works, the book is issued in paper-boards, 
with the edges uncut, and is altogether produced in so handsome a 
style as to merit the appellation of a livre de luxe. The contents are 
of unusual and exceptional interest, containing passages as brilliant 
and eloquent as any in Mr. RuskhYs more laboured writings. The 
editor has rendered a great service to literature in collecting and 
publishing these letters, which he has done with Mr. Ruskin's full 
sanction and approval, but without his superintendence. The 
author of the letters has, however, been induced by his " immitig- 
able editor" (as Mr. Ruskin styles him) to write a very character- 
istic preface to the collection, and a still more characteristic epilogue, 
in which he gravely and elaborately defends the now celebrated 
Glasgow letter, with which the second volume closes, and which 
lately puzzled and startled the world, and shocked even some of Mr. 
Ruskin's most devoted admirers. The editor has printed, without 
exception, every letter referred to in Mr. Shepherd's " Bibliography 
of Ruskin " (his obligations to which work he gracefully and grate- 
fully acknowledges in his introduction), and some further letters 
written or brought to light since the publication of the latest edition 
of that manual. These letters are arranged topically, not chrono- 
logically. They extend over a period of forty years, commencing in 
1 84 1 (not 1840, as the title-page erroneously implies), and deal with 
a large variety of subjects connected with art, science, literature, 
politics, political economy, and geology. They are a curious key to 
their author's mind in its successive stages and developments, and 
will be read with eager interest by all his disciples and admirers, to 
whom the book will be an inestimable boon. An admirable and 
copious index is appended, extending over some forty pages. It 
seems ungracious to find any fault with such a welcome gift ; but I 
regret to be compelled to add that the volumes are disfigured 
by some rather ugly misprints, which might easily have been avoided* 



Table Talk. 253 

It is a pity the editor did not ask some literary friend to read his 
proof-sheets before passing them for press, and so save us from 
such eye-sores as " Rosetti " for " Rossetti," and " Pentalici " for 
" Pentelici." The annotations are for the most part modest and useful, 
neither too sparse nor too copious, and, what is most important, 
thoroughly correct and reliable in all their details. The book is not 
published in the usual way, but can be had by writing to Mr. George 
Allen, Sunnyside, Orpington ; an obscure village in Kent, which 
Mr. Ruskin has succeeded in making famous. 

I FIND that Mr. R. H. Shepherd, whose labours have thus borne 
fruit, has just added a third to his series of Bibliographies of 
illustrious English writers. The new Bibliography of Thackeray, "a 
bibliographical list, arranged in chronological order, of the published 
writings in prose and verse, and the sketches and drawings of 
William Makepeace Thackeray from 1829 to 1880," will be an 
important and welcome acquisition to students and collectors, and 
to the latter an indispensable vade-mecum, A few large-paper 
copies are printed, to match with the sumptuous kdilion de luxe of 
Thackeray. 

IT is extraordinary how well-meaning zealots will persist in putting 
weapons into the hands of their enemies. Sir Thomas Chambers, 
at a conference of Sunday-school teachers " and others," has been 
observing that the " dulness " of London Sundays is "a great comfort 
to a Christian man." This is a confession that will delight High 
Church people as well as unbelievers, exceedingly. It has always 
been urged against Protestantism, in its Presbyterian form, that it is 
cheerless and " dull," and here we have a professor of the faith 
glorying not in it, but in its defects. A very great divine has said 
that if Heaven takes no delight in man's wisdom, still less does it do 
so in his stupidity. But Sir Thomas, it seems, is of the contrary 
opinion. The duller he is, the better he is. If he is right, I can only 
say that I know a number of most excellent people. " The shops 
are closed ; all the indications of Sabbath observance in England," 
he says, " are satisfactory." Sir Thomas either omits, from conscien- 
tious motives, to walk in the streets on Sunday, or, unlike other dull 
men, he is very easily pleased. 

STRONG interest is always felt by the public in cases in which an 
actor dies upon the stage. That this should be so is natural. 
The strange contrasts of what Mr. Browning calls " this pageant 



254 2Hk Gentlemaris Magazine. 

world " are never so grimly illustrated as when one who is presenting 
the simulated throes of death is seized upon by the King of Terrors, 
nor does the Dance Macabre afford an instance of irony so striking 
as that furnished by Death and the actor. Special risks have, of 
course, to be faced by the histrion. Of these no insignificant per- 
centage is attributable to the carelessness of those in authority behind 
the scenes of a theatre. In a country town in France an actor 
recently dropped dead upon the stage. A charge had been left in a 
pistol employed in the course of the piece, the well-known melo- 
drama of " Les Pirates de la Savane," in a version of which Charles 
Mathews appeared at Drury Lane. The natural result followed, and 
the man at whom the weapon was levelled fell on the stage a corpse. 
Not the first accident of the kind is this. Actors have been blinded 
by the discharge of powder when there was no charge — so called — in 
the gun. There can surely be no reason, since noise is all that is 
required, why stage firearms should not be mimic weapons, incapable 
of containing a charge, and made simply to strike a detonating ball 
which shall convey to the audience the idea of a shot. Danger in 
the case of firearms on the stage is not confined to the actor. The 
public runs a risk only less great In the course of a conflict with 
swords even, I have seen the weapon of Stanley, who was fighting 
with Richard III., struck from his hand with such force as to fly 
into the stalls. Fair risks of life a man must encounter, as he may. 
That he should be subjected to unnecessary danger involves careless- 
ness amounting to criminality. 

VERY striking is it to see how nearly identical has been the 
development of the drama in ancient and modern times. 
Between the performances of classical drama in Rome and Southern 
Italy, and the appearance of the modern drama in the first rude 
sketch of the shape it now assumes, there was a short period of 
absolute blank. Recent discoveries have tended to abridge that 
period but not to do away with it When, accordingly, after the 
return of barbarism, the drama reasserted itself, it was under condi- 
tions precisely the same as those which marked the formation of the 
Greek drama. Both tragedy and comedy sprang from the song of 
the parted choir in the worship of Bacchus and of Ceres. In the 
same way, the earliest specimens of the liturgical drama of mediaeval 
times sprang out of the antiphonal utterance of the choir in the 
celebration of Catholic worship. In England, records of Catholic 
ceremonial are few, and we have no such instances of the first intru- 
sion of a dramatic form into worship as other countries. So early as 



Table Talk. 255 

the tenth century the Adoration of the Shepherds was presented in 
the church, assumably before the Introit " Quem quaeritis in praesepe, 
pastores ? dicite " (" Whom are you seeking, shepherds, in the manger? 
tell us ") asked a portion of the choir. To this the other portion 
responded: " Salvatorem, Christum Dominum " ("The Saviour, Christ 
the Lord "). Here is an unmistakable commencement of the litur- 
gical drama which, in the following centuries, took possession of the 
churches. It is, moreover, as I have said, precisely the same rudi- 
mentary shape which was witnessed in Greece. I cannot in " Table 
Talk " carry out the parallel or furnish further illustrations. As our 
English historians refer to nothing in the nature of drama earlier 
than the late years of the twelfth century, rude commencements 
like that I supply are worthy of being cited. 

ABOUT three months ago I folded up a newspaper and put in 
a closet some fairly valuable books. They were, indeed, the 
publications of the Hunterian Club. A day or two ago I opened 
out a parcel, and was astonished to find that the arch-enemy of 
books, the book-worm, had got to one or two, and had perforated 
the cover and exterior papers. Yet, though the mark was quite fresh, 
my enemy was nowhere to be seen. I am as much at a loss to 
account for his disappearance as for his presence. I wish Dr. 
Andrew Wilson would take to studying the habits of these myste- 
rious creatures and teach us something concerning them beyond 
what we know to our sorrow. That the book-worm is, as might be 
supposed, a maggot, I learn from Mr. Westell, the bookseller — the 
only person of whom I have heard who has seen one. 

SO much interest is attached to the representation of a new 
drama by the Laureate, that it seems worth while to supply 
from the " Morals of Plutarch " the story of Camma, which forms the 
basis of the play now in course of performance at the Lyceum. For 
this purpose I use the translation of Philemon Holland, since the 
labours of Sir Thomas North did not extend beyond the " Lives." 
I leave, of necessity, a few gaps in the narrative. Nothing of the 
slightest importance is, however, omitted : 

There were in times past two most puissant Lords and Tctrarchs of Galatia, 
who also were in blood of kin one to the other, Sinatus and Synorix. Sinatus 
had espoused a young virgin named Camma, and made her his wife; a lady 
highly esteemed of as many as knew her, as well for the beauty of her person as 
the flower of her age . . . and that which made her better reputed and more 
renowned was this, that she was a most religious Priestesse of Diana (a goddesse 
whom the Galatians most devoutly honour and worship), and also in every 



256 The Gentleman! $ Magazine. 

solemn procession and public sacrifice she would always be seen abroad most 
sumptuously set out and stately adorned. It fortuned so that Synorix was 
enamoured of this brave dame, but being not able to bring about his purpose 
... the divel put in his head to commit a most heinous and detestable fact : for 
he laid wait for Sinatus and treacherously murthered him. He stayed not long 
after, but fell to wooing of Camma, and courting her by way of marriage. She 
made her abode within the temple at that time, and took the infamous act com- 
mitted by Synorix, not piteously, and as one cast down and dejected therewith, 
but with a stout heart and a stomach moved to anger, and yet considerately, 
waiting the time and opportunity of revenge. On the other side, Synorix fol- 
lowed his sute very earnestly, sollicking and entreating importunately. Neither 
seemed he to alledge vain and frivolous reasons, but such as carried some 
colourable pretence of honesty, namely, that he had always showed himself a man 
of more valour and worth than Sinatus : and whereas he took away his life, 
induced he was thereto for the exceeding love that he bore Camma, and not 
moved thereto by any malice otherwise. This young dame at first seemed to 
deny him, but yet her denials were not very churlish. . . . To be short, in the 
end she gave her consent, and Synorix was sent for to come unto her, where she 
kept her resiance, that in the presence of the said goddesse the contract of 
marriage might passe, and the espousals be solemnized. When he was come 
she received and welcomed him with an amiable and gracious countenance, had 
him unto the very Altar of Diana, where religiously and with great ceremony 
she poured forth before the goddesse a little of a potion which she had prepared 
out of a bowle. The one part thereof she drunk her selfe, and the other part 
she gave unto Synorix for to drink. Now, this potion was made mingled with 
rank poyson. When she saw that he had taken his draught, she fetched a loud 
and evident groan, doing reverence also unto the goddesse. I protest and call 
thee to witnesse (quoth she), most powerfull and honourable goddesse, that I 
have not survived Sinatus for any other cause in the world but only to see this 
day ; neither have I had any joy of my life all this while that I have lived since, 
but only in regard of hope that one day I might be revenged of his death, which 
seeing that now I have effected, I go most gladly and joyfully unto that sweet 
husband of mine ; and as for thee (most accursed and wicked wretch in the world), 
give order to thy kinsfolk and friends in stead of a nuptial bed to provide a grave 
for thy burial. The Galatian (hearing these words, and beginning withal to feel 
the operation of the poison, and how it wrought and troubled him within his 
bowels arid all parts of his body) mounted presently his chariot, hoping that by 
the jogging and agitation thereof he might vomit and cast up the poyson ; but 
immediately he alighted againe and put himself into an easie litter ; but did he 
what he could, dead he was that very evening. As for Camma, she continued 
all the night languishing, and when she heard for certain that he was deceased, 
she, all with joy and mirth, departed out of this world. 1 

Few records of feminine action are more heroic than this. Whether 
it gains or loses in the course of dramatisation by the Laureate will 
be a matter of opinion. 

SYLVANUS URBAN. 

1 The Philosophy commonly called the Morals^ written by the learned philo- 
sopher Plutarch, of Chieronea. Translated &c. by Philemon Holland. Load* 
1657 j pp. 412-13. 



THE 

GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE 

March i88r. 
THE COMET OF A SEASON. 

BY JUSTIN MCCARTHY, M.P. 

Chapter VII. 

" YOU SAW HER FAIR, NONE ELSE BE1NC BY." 

CAPTAIN MARION'S first idea, when he had got possession of 
money, was to begin to spend it His impulse, however, 
always was to spend for the enjoyment of the people around him 
rather than his own. He had now fallen in for a good thing, as the 
result of his once disparaged American speculations, and he was very 
happy in the prospect of being able to live in a liberal and pleasant 
manner again. His good fortune brought him a double gratification. 
First of all, he had the money to spend, and the prospect of a secure 
and even a rising income ; and next, he had the great satisfaction of 
being able to look boldly in the faces of the prophets of evil, who 
had kept saying, " Didn't I tell you so ? " when he first put his 
money into American railways, and nothing seemed likely to come 
out. He was now able to claim for himself the proud possession of 
judgment and prescience in his speculations, and by his quiet com- 
posure of manner and his carefully abstaining from any reference to 
past censure, he could heap coals of fire upon the heads of those who 
once would have it that he had brought his family to ruin. He felt 
a certain satisfaction, too, in being again able to make something of 
a figure in the eyes of his own family. He had for a good long time 
been compelled, as he expressed it himself, to play second fiddle 
to his son-in-law, Mr. Trescoe, and he thought the time had now 
come when he was fairly entitled to take the leading position, 
vol. ccl. no. 1S03. s 



258 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

and to show that he could be head of the family in fact as well as in 
name. 

All these considerations, added to a boundless good nature and 
an intense love for his daughters, made Captain Marion very happy 
in the prospect of their first season together in London. It was his 
intention that he and his two daughters and his daughter Katherine's 
husband should see out the season in London and then think about 
their foreign tour. He anticipated immense pleasure from showing 
his daughters and Miss Rowan everything interesting in London first, 
and on the Continent afterwards. He had taken a handsome fur- 
nished house, with servants and all just as it stood, in one of the 
streets running off Piccadilly, and meant to make himself very com- 
fortable and even happy for the rest of the season. He soon had 
many visitors ; he gave nice little dinner parties ; and amongst the 
most frequent of his visitors, at regular and irregular hours, was 
Mr. Montana. 

Mr. Aquitaine did not make much of a stay in London. He was 
always, as he called it, " on the wing." He came up for a day, dis- 
appeared for a few days more, to reappear nobody could tell how 
soon. A short time after the opening address with which Montana 
had introduced his great enterprise to the London public, Mr. 
Aquitaine, who had been staying with his daughter in Captain 
Marion's house, and was expected to consider it his home whenever 
he turned up in London, was about to make one of his sudden 
returns to the north. While smoking a cigar with Captain Marion 
one morning after breakfast, he was told that a gentleman wished to 
see him, and was handed a card. 

" Now, look here, Marion, here's a young man in whom I take a 
great deal of interest, and there is an odd sort of story about him. 
He wrote to me the other day ; he wants to be introduced to 
Montana ; and if it is right to do the thing, you can do it for him 
better than I could. But I am not certain whether I ought to 
encourage him. He had better stay where he is, and not think of 
starting on adventures." 

Captain Marion had a sympathetic interest in everybody going to 
do anything. He asked with some curiosity who the young man was, 
and what was his story. 

" Well," Aquitaine said, " it's not much of a story, and yet there 
is a certain oddness about it. He was a very poor lad in toy town, 
years ago ; I believe his father and mother were people of education 
and good family, but they made a runaway match, and both died 
poor somehow, and left him. Just at the time of their death— the 



The Comet of a Season. 259 

father died latest — when this lad was seven or eight years old or 
thereabouts, a man that I knew in the town lost his son. The son 
disappeared He had married a girl of good family — young 
Fanshawe's sister, by the way ; you know young Fanshawe ? She 
died. He disappeared. The old man had been thrown into 
acquaintanceship with this lad, and he was taken by a certain sort of 
resemblance in the two stories, somehow. He took the boy as his 
son, and has kept him ever since. He was a livery-stable keeper, 
and had horses, and made a lot of money, I believe, and he has 
settled in London now. I knew this young fellow well, and liked him. 
He used to come to our house, and — well, there is a lot more that I 
need not trouble you with. Anyhow, I will go and see him, and if I 
should ask you to introduce him to Montana, you won't mind doing 
so, will you ? " 

Captain Marion not only promised, but was delighted at the 
chance of a new recruit. Already in his mind he was filled with the 
idea of a romantic, generous, aspiring youth, determined to lend his 
hand in founding a great enterprise, and destined to be his own 
lieutenant, companion, and friend in the brilliant portentous move- 
ment which he saw before him in the enchanting distance. 

Just as he was about to leave the room, Aquitaine bethought 
himself of something, and turned back. 

" Before I go, Marion," he said, " don't you go putting any of 
your money into this scheme of Montana's. I am not saying any- 
thing against him ; he may be very sincere ; I dare say he is ; but 
nothing will come of this ; and you want your money for your 
daughters and yourself." 

Marion was disposed to be a little evasive — at least, evasive for 
him. He was afraid of what he considered his friend's terribly 
practical nature and business habits. Aquitaine passed among the 
business men of his own town for somewhat of a visionary, because 
of his generous and charitable disposition. 

" It isn't a matter of money," Marion answered ; " it's a matter of 
faith and energy. I think it is a grand idea to start a new world there 
yonder in the heart of the new world ; a place where the true laws 
of freedom and of health may be fairly tried out, as you know they 
never can have a chance of being tried under our old systems, even 
in America, not to say in England. You know that yourself, 
Aquitaine ; I've heard you say twenty times that the laws of health 
have no fair chance of being tested here." 

" Yes, the laws of health, to be sure ; I've said that often enough. 
But, laws of health ?— good gracious ! your friend is going in for trying 

S3 



260 The Gentleinaris Magazine. 

out every principle known to the imagination of man 1 Aft, arid 
science, and religion, and morals, and all the rest, are to be re- 
volutionised. The city is to be like something in the Apocalypse, 
or in a fairy story. Streets of silver and gold, I believe." 

" No, no, nothing of the kind." 

" Well, will you promise me not to have anything to do with the 
whole thing — at least, until you see it tried and have some idea of what 
it will come to ? " 

" No, 111 not promise that, certainly," Marion said warmly. " I 
should much rather promise to have nothing to do with it at all than to 
look coldly on until it had proved itself, and then to sneak in and claim 
a share in the glory. That would be like the sailor in the old story, 
who hid in a cask until the fight was over and his ship had won, and 
then crept out and asked how much prize-money was coming to him." 

Aquitaine remained silent for a moment Then he said : — 

" One word, Marion — I never like worrying people with advice 
when they have their minds made up, as you have." 

" It's not a question of having my mind made up ; it is a question 
of duty. All my life I have had a vague longing for some such 
chance as this ; and it has come. That is all." 
1 " You have a mission, in fact ; quite so. Of course, in that case, 
I need not advise. Well, there is just this ; do you mean to pull 
your daughters into this business ? " 

" I don't mean to pull them into it ; Katherine is very keen on it 
already." 

" What does her husband say ? " 

" Oh, well," Marion answered with a smile, " I suppose he says 
whatever she says." 

" Are you all going to be among the pioneers of this interesting 
enterprise ? " 

" I shall be among the pioneers or not in it at all," Marion 
answered resolutely. 

" When are the pilgrim fathers going to take shipping? And 
where is the new colony to be founded ? " 

" Oh, well, you know, things haven't come as far as that yet 
There is a great deal to be done before we get to that" 

" I see ; I am very glad to know that the site has not been fixed 
on yet." 

" No ; that can be done later. As yet it is all but a thought in 
the mind of one man." 

'• Indeed 1 A thought in the mind of one man ? I am pleased 
to know that ; may it long remain in that condition I I an\ less 



The Comet of a Season. 261 

despondent about you all, now that I know that much. Only, I do 
beg of you, Marion, don't be carried away altogether by the advice 
of women in a matter of this kind. You are much too apt to be 
guided and governed by women. Do reflect that in such a case you 
ought to be the guide. You know how their feelings and sympathies 
carry them away. All the better they are for it, as far as feeling 
goes ; but they want some one to control them in a thing like this. 
They think Montana is a prophet and an angel because he has fine 
eyes and odd ways." 

Marion smiled. 

"A bad shot, Aquitaine. My womankind are greatly divided 
about this enterprise. Sydney is not clear at all about it ; and 
Geraldine — Miss Rowan — is dead against it ; she can hardly be got 
to say a good word for Montana." 

" I am very glad to hear it. She has more brains than the lot of 
you put together. Excuse me, Marion, if I don't flatter you. I was 
afraid Montana had bewitched all your group of girls. Thank 
Heaven, Mrs. Aquitaine isn't a woman likely to be moved to any 
exertion of mind or body ; and I don't think my Mel. is a \ery 
susceptible little person." 

" Does Melissa take no interest in all this ? " Captain Marion 
asked, with a certain hesitation. He had had hints from his daughter 
Katherine which would not have conveyed that impression. 

" No ; not the least. I don't think she takes much interest in 
anything. Sometimes I could wish that she had a little more senti- 
ment about her. She seems to me to have almost no feeling at all — 
in that sentimental way, I mean. Well, well, we can't have every- 
thing. It's very satisfactory to me just now to find that she isn't 
likely to be much interested in your new founder and prophet. 
Anyhow, I leave you with an easier mind, Marion, seeing that this 
grand enterprise is only in the air, so far. What are you going to 
call your new city, when it is built? Cloud-cuckoo-capital? 
Xanadu ? or is it to have a name like the original name of Rome, 
which no men are to know or speak ? " 

The friends parted soon after, each much concerned for the other. 
Captain Marion felt a certain doubt as to whether he ought not to 
give Aquitaine a hint that his daughter did not seem so absolutely 
unconcerned about the Montana project as he supposed ; but he did 
not know enough to justify him, he thought, in disturbing Aquitaine's 
mind with suspicion or alarm. It might be only a nonsensical idea 
of Katherine's. Katherine did not like girls, and always suspected 
them q( something or other. If anything more were to come of it. 



262 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

if the girl should really form a wish to go out to the new colony, 
Aquitaine must be consulted by her, and would know how to act 
In any case, the colony was not likely to be founded for some time to 
come. There was time enough yet — and Marion usually got out of 
any mental perplexities by reflecting that there was time enough yet. 
He took it for granted that in any case Aquitaine would not allow 
his daughter to have anything to do with the enterprise ; and there 
was no harm, therefore, to come of letting things alone for the 
moment. 

Aquitaine was greatly relieved to find that the enterprise was not 
yet starting into real life. He knew enough of his friend to know 
that with time for a change of ideas the change might easily come. 
Still, he was disturbed about him. " On my life," he said to himself, 
" I wish he would marry that girl. It's absurd a man at his time of 
life, with a married daughter, thinking of getting married again; 
but I do believe in his case it would be the best thing he could do. 
She is a sensible and a clever girl ; and she would make a capital 
wife, I am sure. She would keep him in order charmingly without 
his knowing it." In true masculine fashion Mr. Aquitaine never 
stopped to ask himself the question whether it was likely Miss Rowan 
would marry Captain Marion. Men usually assume that a man has 
only to ask and to have, except in the case of some woman of their 
own family, when they are apt to think of his proposal as like the 
fellow's impudence. 

As he went to meet his visitor, Aquitaine kept looking at the 
visitor's card. It bore the name of " Clement Hope." 

" No * Mr.,' of course," Aquitaine murmured. " Rights of man, 
to be sure; equality, and all that. Exactly. Poor Clem.! Poor Clem. ! " 

He then entered a neat little reception-room and found poor 
Clem, himself. 

Clement Hope was sitting in a great arm-chair, with his hands 
hanging listlessly down between his knees, and his eyes fixed on the 
floor. His whole attitude and aspect suggested uncertainty and 
despondency ; suggested the condition of one who does not know in 
the least what to do with himself. Otherwise the young man, except 
for his dress, seemed as if he might have stepped out of a painting 
by Andrea del Sarto. Melancholy eyes, careless hair, a short 
moustache, a short peaked beard, a poetically loose collar, dark 
complexion, a sort of feminine gentleness of expression, contrasting 
curiously enough with a robust figure and strongly made hands and 
wrists — these were the principal characteristics of the figure at which 
Mr. Aquitaine now looked with a sort of compassionate friendliness. 



TJie Comet of a Season. 263 

They had a cordial, almost affectionate meeting. 1 

"So Clem., my boy, you want to be up and doing? You want to 
join the enterprise of the great Montana ? " 

" Yes, Mr. Aquitaine — I want to do something." 

"But why were you thinking about that just now? You could 
not possibly leave your father — I may call him your father? " 

" You may, Mr. Aquitaine ; he has been better to me than most 
fathers, I fancy. No, I should never think of leaving him, as things 
go now. That would never do." 

" I should think not," Aquitaine said quickly. " You should be 
a precious ungrateful fellow if you were to think of leaving him — and 
I know you are not ungrateful, Clem." He hastened to add this, for 
the young man's cheeks reddened. 

" I would go into the pit of Acheron for him ! " 

"Hullo ! " Aquitaine interrupted ; " pit of Acheron ? " 

" Well, why not pit of Acheron ? " Clement said good-humouredly, 
but looking a little abashed at the manner in which his emphatic 
declaration was met. 

" Why not, indeed ! Only, it sounded a little poetic, didn't it ? 
Are you taking to poetry, my boy ? " 

"Oh, no, I wish I could!" 

" Well, you can read and enjoy it — that's enough." 

" Yes, I can do that — thank Heaven." 

" You are in earnest," Aquitaine said. 

" Yes, I am in earnest about everything. I mean all I say, Mr. 
Aquitaine ; I feel all I say." 

Their eyes met sympathetically. 

" I am sure you do ; I am sorry for it sometimes," Aquitaine 
replied. They had some little secret between them, evidently. 

"You have not got rid of that nonsense yet, then, I suppose? " 
Mr. Aquitaine said, after a moment of silence. 

" You mean about Miss Aquitaine ? " 

" I mean that That is the nonsense." 

" No, I have not got rid of that. I mean to carry that always 
with me. It isn't nonsense ; at least, of course, I know it would be 
nonsense if I were really foolish enough to fancy that anything could 
come of it. But you know, Mr. Aquitaine, I never did that ; you 
know I never spoke a word of it to any one but yourself; and only to 
you to explain what might have seemed strange and rude, perhaps, 
otherwise." 

" My good boy," Aquitaine said gravely, " you know what I 
think of your conduct. You know I think you acted like a true 



264 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

gentleman and a splendid fellow. If I had a son, Clem., I should 
have wished him in such a case to act exactly as you did, and not 
otherwise. I should have been proud of him ; I dare say I should 
have thought him too good for any girl that ever put on a petticoat. 
I think so of you. When I speak of nonsense, it isn't anything 
about the money Melissa may have, or the sort of thing that is called 
position in a provincial town. In my place we all earn a living one 
way or another ; we have no gentlemen there, unless you come to the 
county families, who in their hearts don't recognise much difference 
between Melissa's father and yours. I don't mean that ; I mean that 
the thing wouldn't suit at all. Melissa isn't your form, take my word 
for it The child is my darling little daughter ; but I can see with 
half an eye that she has more faults than she has dresses — even." 

" Please don't, Mr. Aquitaine." 

" You would rather think she has no faults, I dare say. But, 
after all, I fancy I am a good deal fonder of Melissa than you 
are " 

Clement shook his head. 

" Well, I shall be fonder of her two years hence than you will. 
Oh, yes ; you need not protest. We have all suffered in that way 
and got over it. I tell you, Clem., I like you so well that if every- 
body else concerned in the matter was willing, and you had more 
money than they could count on 'Change in half a day, my advice to 
you would be not to marry Melissa Aquitaine. Come, it isn't often 
a father has given advice like that, is it ? But it is sincere. I know 
my little girl better than you do, and I don't believe she could make 
you a good wife. I don't think she is capable of much love. I 
don't think she could put up with anything or be of one humour 
long. I sometimes think she is incapable of loving — and for his 
sake, whoever he may be, I should almost wish it were so. There ! 
those are my sentiments." 

" All the same, I love her." 

" No, you don't. I know you think you do ; but you don't." 

" Perhaps you know what I feel better than I do myself," Cle- 
ment said, with a melancholy smile. 

" I know much better than you what the strength of the feeling 
is, and how long it is likely to last Stuff and nonsense ! If I found 
you groaning with a toothache, and were to tell you that you would 
think the gout, if you had it, much worse, you probably wouldn't 
believe me. Perhaps you would ask whether I could judge of your 
feelings better than you could yourself I should say, Yes ; and when 
you came to have the gout, you would know that I was right" 



T*he Comet of a Season. 265 

" The cases are rather different. You can't know what I feel, 
Mr. Aquitaine." 

" Of course I know you think you feel more than anybody ever 
did before or ever will again. But, my good boy, that in itself is 
only one familiar symptom. That only confirms my view. We have 
all been like that. Come, come, you are in the age for falling in 
love ; and Melissa came in your way, and she is a pretty girl, and 
her very little pertnesses and ill-humours had a charm for you. Tut, 
tut ! I know all about it, you'll find. And you have taken her for 
your ideal. You are in love with your ideal girl, not Melissa 
Aquitaine. She isn't any one's ideal, even her father's." 

" Well, anyhow, that's one reason why I want to get away out of 
this. I want to live in some earnest, active, striving sort of way ; I 
want to fight a stiff battle of life." 

Aquitaine smiled. 

" We miss those Saracens terribly," he said. " It was such a 
relief to every disappointed fellow in the chivalrous days to be 
able to go and fight the Saracens. Well, perhaps the West may help 
us out of our difficulty. You want to have a hand in Montana's 
project — his New Jerusalem — I suppose ?" 

" I should like to know something about it. Of course I couldn't 
go now. I wouldn't leave him for all the objects in the world, unless 
he was quite willing. But I can't help always looking out for some- 
thing that may turn me free to go wherever I choose." 

" You are not speculating on his death, surely?" Aquitaine said, 
with a certain surprise and harshness in his tone. 

" No ; I don't like to think of such a misfortune as that. And 
happily we need not think of it ; he has splendid health, and has 
years and years before him, I hope. No ; I was thinking of some- 
thing that would make him happy, and set me free to go and bury 
myself wherever I chose. I was thinking that some day his son will 
come back to him." 

" Why on earth do you think that ?" 

" Well, for one thing, he is firmly convinced of it himself. You 
see, he never heard any account of his son's death ; and he is con- 
vinced he will come back some day." 

Aquitaine shook his head. 

" Either he is dead long ago, or he has no intention of coming 
back. Why should he never have written ? Did he never write ?" 
" Never." 
%i Then, why should he never have written if he meant to come 



266 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

back ? Oh, no ; he is either dead, or he has married and forgotten 
all about the people at home. He has grown rich, and does not 
want to come back ; or he is poor, and is ashamed. The chances 
are many to one, I should say, that he is dead." 

" Still, if it should not be so — and he firmly believes it will not 
be so — I should feel sadly out of place here. There would be no 
need of me any more. I should feel in the way more than anything 
else. You have no idea how he longs for his son — every year more 
and more." 

" What does your father want you to do ? " Aquitaine asked. 

" Well, that is the worst of it ; he wants me to do nothing. He 
wants me just to stay with him always, and tells me I shall have 
plenty of money when — that is, afterwards, you know. But that 
seems to me an unmanly sort of life. I am hanging on, doing no- 
thing " 

" You are learning something. You are studying, I suppose ? " 

" Yes, I am studying a good deal, and I should be happy enough 
if that seemed the right sort of thing to do. I can sit in a* room 
with books half the day and half the night too, and be perfectly 
happy, but that doesn't seem the way that a man ought to spend his 
life. I am fond of books, but I am afraid I should never do any- 
thing in the literary line. I don't think I have any gift of poetry or 
prose, or anything else. I don't believe I have the gift of expression 
at all," Clement said despondently. " I am sure I couldn't paint a 
picture, or model a statue, or make a drawing for a house, or do 
anything of that kind. I can't expect to lead the life of a dilettante 
scholar in a library. I think I should make a good settler or an 
explorer — these are times when one may easily find something to do 
with energy and enterprise about it. But all that would only come 
up if what I told you of were to happen. If this young man should 
come back — — " 

" He would not be much of a young man now," said Aquitaine. 

"No; I forgot about that. I was thinking of him as if he always 
ought to be what he was when he went away. If he should come 
back, I should be de trop in the business, to say the least of it" 

" Did you ever see the son ? " Aquitaine asked. 

" I never saw him ; no. I never even heard he had gone until 
afterwards." 

" I never saw him," said Aquitaine ; " at least, I never remember 
seeing him. I know he was in our office for some years ; but there 
were a lot of people there, and I was about the world then more 



The Comet of a Season. 267 

than I am now, and my attention was never called to him. I do not 
even know what he was like." 

" His father thinks he was like me/ 1 Clement murmured dreamily, 
" but that must be a mere fancy. I believe he was very good-looking." 

Aquitaine looked quickly at the young man ; but Clement was 
evidently not fishing for a compliment There was a mirror near 
him ; he had not even glanced at it. He was moodily looking 
down. 

" Clearly that must have been a mere fancy," Aquitaine said, with 
a smile. 

" Oh, yes ! * Clement replied. 

" Well — I am in a difficulty about you," Aquitaine said, "and 111 
put it into plain words. I don't like the idea of your going out on 
this wild-goose chase to found your new Atlantis or whatever it is ; 
and I should be terribly sorry to hear that you had left the kind old 
man who has been so good to you." 

" 111 not leave him while he wants me ; that's certain. Nothing 
on earth will make me do that" 

" Very well ; I quite believe you mean all you say. I don't like 
the chance of your being taken in tow by Montana either : I don't 
believe in him. But, then, I hate the idea of your wasting any more 
of your time thinking over this little crotchety girl of mine. Will 
you promise me to try to shake off that thought — to get rid of it once 
for all ? " 

"Why should I do that? It makes life sweet to me. It doesn't 
do her any harm. I shall never speak of it to her or to any one. 
But it is all I have that makes life dear — the thought of her." 

" In Heaven's name!" Aquitaine exclaimed, "why don't you take 
to writing poems? It would be ever so much better; you could work 
off the nonsense that way. The rhymes take so much out of one I 
The most unmanageable poets of all are the poets who don't compose 
any poetry. My dear good Clem., will you promise me to begin at 
once a series of sonnets — a short series, only a hundred and fifty or 
so — to my daughter ? " 

" You laugh at me, but I don't mind." 

" No ; that's the worst of it ; I wish you did." 

" Because I know you mean it kindly. Nothing coming from you 
can give me pain." 

" Oh, hang it all ! — I know ; because I am the father of her. 
Well, listen, Clem.; you said you never would speak to her — Her, with 
a big capital — unless you had my consent My dear boy, you have 
my consent Nothing better could possibly happen to you than to 



268 The Getitletnaris Magazine. 

try your chance. If that doesn't cure you, nothing will Go along, 
there's a good fellow, and ask my daughter to marry you. Faith of 
a heavy father — a somewhat heavy-hearted father now and then — 
if she consents, I'll not stand in the way ; and neither, I can promise 
you, will her mother." 

The young man's eyes had flashed fire for a moment, but then he 
became graver than ever. 

" Now you really are laughing at me," he said, " and this is a sharper 
jest than the other." 

" I am not laughing at you," Aquitaine replied, in a tone that was 
almost stern. " I am very much in earnest I don't believe any one 
can cure you of this nonsense half so well as my daughter herself. 
Go to her ; tell her in poetic language how much you love her ; offer 
her your hand and heart — I have reason to believe you'll find her in 
a remarkably melting mood just now." 

" I know well enough she would only laugh at me; I don't want 
to ask her ; I don't want her to marry me, if it comes to that ; why 
should such a girl think of a fellow like me? It would be a shame. 
I only want to love her." 

" Go and tell her so," Aquitaine said, (< and then let me hear 
from you again," 



Chapter VIII. 



ROMEO AND ROSALIKE. 



Good fortune and bad fortune had combined to make Montana 
what he now was. The buffets and the rewards had conspired to 
decide his fate, each the wrong way. The buffets did not either cor- 
rect or discourage ; the rewards did not satisfy. His personal beauty 
was perhaps his first stimulus to the belief that he must be destined 
for great things. He felt that the gods had set their seal on him by 
making him beautiful, as the Greek orator declared of Phryne. His 
love-match had shown him that he could impress women with a 
sense of his power. His grief and his disappointment had rilled him 
with a despair which, while it lasted, was akin to madness. He had 
suffered intensely ; sorrow, dull, protracted, seemingly hopeless 
struggle, and iron poverty had tried to bear him down. He had 
seemed as if destined to end a drear life by some death of utter 
misery. Yet through all his worst times he had felt the same faith in 
his destiny — in his mission. He was confident that he was tried in 



The ComU of a Season* 269 

the fire of adversity only that he might be made the stronger for 
some great work which was to be assigned to him. 

Men more pious and far better instructed than Montana have also 
believed that in every sorrow inflicted on them there was only a 
purpose personal to them, to make them stronger for this world, or 
touch their souls so as to make them fitter for the next. The loved 
father perishes in his prime ; the wife of a man's youth is taken from 
his side ; the little daughter is snatched from the blossoming promise 
of her sweet childhood ; and the survivor, not content with bending 
to the will of the benignant powers above, and quietly believing that 
all must be for the best, complacently makes a moral special to 
himself, and assumes that others have been victimised in order that 
his poor little personality may have all the benefit. It does not occur 
to him to ask why any other should suffer in order that he might be 
made the better ; whether Providence may not have designs of a 
larger mould than those which concerned only his particular career. 
Montana was one of that class of suffering egotists. Any stroke of 
fate falling on himself or those he loved — they were not many — he 
assumed to be intended for his own special behoof, in order to fit 
him all the more for the great mission whereof the nature and 
object were yet to be disclosed. This almost sublime egotism sus- 
tained him. Prosperity came at once along various paths, and he 
took the prosperity as he had taken the suffering. He accepted it as 
a proof that he was destined for great things. His egotism case- 
hardened him against fear and against arrogance. 

For a time, after the climax of his struggle had passed away, 
everything seemed to go well with him. He had made a fair repute 
in the American Civil War ; first having entered the campaign merely 
as a philanthropical attendant on the hospitals, and then serving as a 
soldier. He had taken up philanthropic land speculations after the 
war ; taken them up without any primary purpose of making money ; 
and even where the success of the philanthropic scheme was doubtful, 
the fact that money came in to Montana was beyond all doubt He 
turned lecturer, became a sort of unconsecrated preacher ; and he 
drew fashionable crowds after him in the United States, even when 
lie most earnestly proclaimed that he desired only the presence of the 
poor. He might have made a wealthy match easily enough at any 
time. Rich women had told him as much, and he had only drawn 
back. He gave away money freely and in large sums. His career 
seemed absolutely free from any evidence of personal object ; and 
yet, all who were not devotees in him distrusted him. 

There were three orders of opinion concerning Montana, There 



270 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

was first the enthusiastic worship of the devotee, which does not 
call for minute analysis. The devotees were, to be sure, chiefly 
women ; but they were not by any means women only. There were 
many men, wherever Montana was known, who believed in him as 
their hero, or prophet, or saint. There were business men who on 
his advice would have flung all their property into some speculation 
of which they had never heard the day before. There were men 
who would have voted for any candidate or anything on a word of 
recommendation from him. In this country we commonly think of 
the society of America as made up only of shrewd, eager-faced 
business men, who set the making of money above every other 
purpose in life. We hear little of that very considerable proportion 
of the men of every American community, who are as accessible to 
the influence of sentimentalism or emotionalism of some kind as the 
heroine of an old romance might have been. The worship of the 
devotees made one order of opinion. Then came a certain pro- 
portion of kindly unbelievers, who merely shook their heads and 
quietly said that Montana was crazed. Lastly came those, not a few 
in number, who declared him to be a mere quack, a particularly 
shallow impostor. It is * surprising how many powerful arguments 
each believer could bring forward in support of his theory. Speak 
to each one in turn, and let him have it all his own way for the time, 
and he would give reasons that made conviction seem hardly to be 
avoided. Then speak to one of the other school, and you began 
insensibly to be drawn into a recognition of the soundness of his 
theory. 

The impostor theory was greatly supported by the fact that 
Montana, in company, evidently kept a constant guard over his 
utterances. It would not need to be a very keen observer to see 
that Montana was always watching you and himself. He never 
answered a question promptly. He looked quietly at his questioner, 
and shaped his answer very slowly. Sometimes he did not answer 
at all — merely shook his head and slightly smiled, and could not be 
got to give any reply. It was impossible not to see now and then, 
by the expression of his eyes, that he was thinking what he ought to 
say, or whether he ought to say anything. On the other hand, his 
admirers, admitting all these peculiarities, saw in them only fresh 
evidence of sincerity and of inspiration. When, they asked, did 
Montana on one of his platforms ever want a word or an answer ? 
What could be more rapid, instantaneous, than the flash of his 
decisive reply to the port-fire touch of a question? For what 
suggested difficulty in morals or in actual life had he not the quick 



The Cotnet of a Season. 271 

word of guidance for those who believed in him ? This, too, was 
true. In ordinary society, his admirers said, he is simply a man 
distrait^ conscious of higher purposes and occupations, only enduring 
the dinner-table, and evading idle chatter. 

Montana might have been the happiest man living on the earth. 
He had found himself suddenly lifted to that dangerous elevation, 
the height of his wishes. He was one of the most marked figures 
of a London season. Wherever he went people looked at him, 
and after him, and started as he passed, and called the attention 
of their friends to him, and whispered his name, and sometimes 
indeed did not even whisper it, but spoke it loudly enough to have 
hurt .the feelings of a different sort of man, but only enough to thrill 
Montana with a new sense of his success. Women of all ranks 
paid court to him, and frankly conveyed their admiration of him. 
There was supposed to be something like a mysterious sanctity 
about his assumed character of leader, priest, and prophet, which 
rendered unnecessary the becoming reticence that would have had 
to be adopted in the case of a more worldly hero. A great many 
London men, too, of all ranks and classes, admired him and believed 
in him. He was a hero to a considerable mass of the working 
population, who had a dash of free-thinking in them. He was not 
robust enough to satisfy the ordinary Radical artisan of cities, but to 
those whose views of life were a little more shadowy, and a little less 
political, he served admirably as a hero and an orator. He was in 
society, passing through the very best of London society sometimes, 
and yet wholly ungovemed by its conventions and above its rules, 
even regarded as the more interesting because he thus set himself 
above its ordinances and paid them no attention. He had several 
little habits which at first made people stare, and always made some 
people angry, and forced others to smile, and yet in the eyes of his 
admirers seemed all the more becoming to his position. When he 
went to dine at a great house, he shook hands with the butler or 
the footman, as well as with the master or mistress, if the butler or 
footman happened to have become an acquaintance of his by attending 
any of his meetings. His manner was always stately, grave, and 
sweet Nothing surprised him. He had the composure of a Red 
Indian chief, who disdains to be dazzled or even moved by any of 
the splendours of civilisation. 

Montana's name was constantly in the papers. He attended 
meetings of almost all kinds which had any savour of philanthropy 
or the higher life about them, and he possibly committed himself to 
a good many movements and causes which could hardly have worked 



272 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

very well in combination. His ambition had now nearly reached its 
crowning point He was the hero of a London season, the prophet 
of a large number of faithful followers, the leader of a great new 
enterprise in civilisation, which had not yet become troublesome, 
inconvenient, or disappointing, for the good reason that it had not 
yet even begun to move \ and he was the idol of a great many 
admiring and attractive women. But there was one thought which 
disturbed him. He remembered past times more keenly than he 
could have wished. His passionate longing was to bury all the early 
past in actual forgetfulness. He hated to have to think of the origin 
from which he sprung. He detested the thought of his father having 
been a livery-stable keeper who gave lessons in riding. If his father 
had been dead he would easily enough have forgotten all about him, 
and might have satisfied his conscience by an easy kind of penitence, 
all the more easy to certain minds because, being unavailing and too 
late, it involves no considerable trouble or self-sacrifice. But he had 
found that his father was not dead ; was living just now in London, 
The thought constantly disturbed him. He could not be sure of 
forgetting the past, or burying the past, as long as this living link with 
it was present and near. Besides, despite all his egotism and his con- 
fused dreamings and aspirations, he had still some remains of a sensitive 
conscience. It stung him now and then to think that he knew of his 
father's existence, and not only did not go to him and announce 
himself as the long-lost son, but was anxious above all things never to 
meet him, never to be recognised by him, and never to have to face 
the terrible alternative of acknowledging himself the livery-stable 
keeper's son, or bluntly denying the relationship. It was brought 
home to his inner convictions sometimes, that if his father and he 
should meet in public, and his father should claim him, he would 
repudiate the claim and deny that he was his father's son. He 
struggled with this horrible thought and tried to escape it, as was his 
way, in dreams. Montana was a dreamer, and not a man of imagina- 
tion. Had he had imagination, it would have fed itself on other food 
than his own morbid personality. It would have created images for 
him out of " the barren realms of darkness," and have peopled his 
lonelier hours with beings that might some of them have become his 
ideal and his guide. But he was merely a dreamer, and could think 
only of his own plans, and his past and his future ; and he brooded so 
on these, that the real was often not to be distinguished by him from the 
unreal. He began to persuade himself that his obscure past must have 
been but a dream. He was gliding into the conviction that he would be 
right in repudiating any claim which an obscure person professing to 



The Comet of a Season. 273 

be his father might venture to make. He could not endure the 
ridicule of such a revelation ; his cause must suffer by it ; it could 
not therefore be in the nature of things or the will of Heaven that one 
entrusted with so great a mission should be left a victim to men's 
scorn. 

Meanwhile, his friendship with Captain Marion became closer and 
closer. His visits always delighted Marion, but did not seem other- 
wise to spread much joy around them. Geraldine Rowan avoided 
him as much as she could do without attracting attention. Melissa 
saw him only ; rarely was spoken to by him. 

Melissa was growing daily paler, more languid, and more unsatis- 
factory in condition. Mr. Aquitaine many times thought it would 
be better to take her back to the country again ; but Melissa 
obstinately resisted : and when any little trial of strength of will arose, 
Melissa was in the habit of carrying the day. She did so in this 
instance, and she positively declared that she found herself much 
better in London than she would be anywhere else, and Mr. 
Aquitaine gave way. There was apparently nothing in her condition 
for which the doctor's skill could do any good. Melissa began by 
refusing to see a doctor ; and then, when by a variety of stratagems 
she was brought into the presence of a physician and induced to talk 
with him, he really found nothing to suggest any ailment which his 
craft could cure. 

Mr. Aquitaine once took an opportunity of saying a word to Miss 
Marion, and urged her to try and find out what was amiss with his 
daughter. Sydney tried her best, but could not succeed. She was 
unable to put herself exactly into sympathy with her wilful little 
friend. Just about this time, Geraldine Rowan had been making 
up her mind to endeavour to establish something like a friendship 
between Melissa and herself. She had resolved, hesitated, resolved 
again, again hesitated; but now a word from Miss Marion about her 
attempt and its failure decided her to try her best She took 
Melissa by surprise, invaded her unexpectedly in her own room one 
day, and broke into the question at once. 

" I am afraid you are not well," she said, " and I am sure Mr. 
Aquitaine must be uneasy about you." 

" Has he made you his confidante ? " Melissa asked, with eyes 
in which an anticipated controversy already sparkled. 

"No, indeed," Miss Rowan said; " he never spoke to me about 
it, but you seem to me to be out of health and spirits somehow; and 
if that makes me uneasy on your account, think how much more 
uneasy it must make him." 

vol. ccl. no. 1803. t 



274 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

" If my father is uneasy about me," Melissa said, " he can tell me so." 
" Come, my dear girl," Miss Rowan said, " you might be more 
friendly with me. I believe they say here that you are sick, but 
I do not think so. I mean, I don't think you are sick in any way 
that a doctor could cure. I think you are out of spirits. I think 
something has gone wrong with you. Perhaps something has disap- 
pointed you; and surely these are things that one girl might well 
talk to another girl about. We are friends, are we not ? " 

" I suppose you mean it well," Melissa answered; " I dare say 
you do ; you are just the sort of girl who means everything well. 
Everybody says you do everything well; but I do not. I seldom 
mean things well, and I don't think I am at all inclined to be a 
friend of yours." 

u Yet I want to win your friendship very much," said Geraldine ; 
" and I think I could deserve it. You have always shown yourself cold 
and unfriendly to me, but I don't mind that ; I don't care for mis- 
understandings of that kind, and I don't a bit mind being met with 
an ungenial answer. I don't care about personal dignity. I want 
to be your friend." 

" We can never be friends," said Melissa, getting up from her 
chair; " I hate you, and there is an end of it." 

Geraldine was certainly somewhat shaken from her composure by 
this blunt declaration. To be told that one is actually hated, and told 
this by a little girl whose flashing eyes and trembling lips show that 
she means exactly all that she says, and at the same time not to have 
the least idea of anything which could give cause for such a feeling 
of detestation — this would be enough to disturb the nerves of even 
a philosopher. Geraldine was not a philosopher, but only a bright, 
good-hearted girl, who thought she saw a way of rendering a service, 
and was determined to go on if she could. She recovered her com- 
posure after a moment. 

" Why do you hate mc, Miss Aquitaine ? I always liked you, and 
I am sure I never did anything that could make you feel so bitterly 
against me." 

" I hate you all the same," said Melissa. She seemed to find a 
certain sense of relief in the declaration. 

" But won't you tell me why ? There may be some mistake. 
There must be. You have fancied I said or did something which I 
did not say or do. I am not at all a good hater myself ; but if I did 
hate any one, I am sure I should tell the reason." 

Melissa turned away and seated herself again in her chair. It 
was a great luxurious armchair, large enough to hold the portly frame 



T/ie Comet of a Season. 275 

of some old-fashioned grandfather, or to embrace all the ample 
draperies of an eighteenth-century belle. Melissa curled herself up 
in it, and looked with her beaming eyes, her pretty face, and her 
pouting, impatient gestures, like some beautiful but dangerous little 
animal — a wild cat perhaps, or a snake, coiled up, and only waiting 
for a spring on some enemy. 

Geraldine went over and knelt by the side of the chair, leant her 
head against it, and took Melissa's reluctant hand and held it firmly, 
as indeed she had strength enough to do ; and then said, in the 
soothing tone one uses with a sick child, " You must tell me why 
you don't like me. I will not let you go until you explain it all. I 
am quite determined there shall be no unkindness between you and 
me if I can possibly prevent it You know how much I like your 
father, and I think he likes me/' 

" Of course he does," Melissa said ; " everybody likes you except 
myself, and that's just it : everybody likes you ; the people I like best 
in the world like you better than they like me." 

" What people that you like best in the world," Geraldine asked, 
" like me better than they like you? Your father is intensely fond 
of you. I never saw any one more fond of a girl ; and your mother, 
and everybody I know. How could they care for me in that way ? 
I am only a girl to whom they are friendly, and whom they saw for the 
first time a few weeks ago, and soon won't see any more. How can 
you grudge me their passing kindness ? " 

" No, it is not that," said Melissa; " it is not for my father. It is 
for — for everybody." 

And Melissa burst into a passion of tears. 

Geraldine was touched to the heart by this sudden and unex- 
pected outbreak. Now she felt sure indeed that poor Melissa's 
trouble was of the spirit and not of the body ; but what could she 
do to soothe her ? How could she ask her for a confidence which, 
for aught she knew, might concern some family tale not to be told to 
any stranger's ear ? Melissa's own words showed that it had some- 
thing to do with herself. Could it be that Melissa was jealous of the 
friendship which the Marions, father and daughter, showed to 
Geraldine ? This seemed hardly possible ; and yet, what else was 
there ? Meantime, she found nothing better to do than to put her 
arm, with gentle resoluteness, round Melissa's neck and draw the girl 
towards her, and quietly press her little nervous hand in token of 
friendship and sympathy. Melissa at all events made no resistance 
now. Geraldine began to hope that she would soon return the 
pressure of sympathy. 

T3 



276 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

A knock at the door made the girls start. A servant brought a 
card for Miss Aquitaine. 

" Do please read the name ; can't you read the name ? " Melissa 
asked in a tone of petulance. 

Geraldine took the card. " Clement Hope," she said. 
" Oh, I can't see him ; I won't see him. Pray send him away. 
Tell him to call again to-morrow ; next week ; next year." 
" Who is he ? A friend of your father? " 

" Oh, yes ;— wait outside, Jane ; I'll call you in a moment. Oh, 
yes. My father delights in him ; adores him ; my father likes every- 
body. He is a dreadful man — not my father, but Clement Hope ; a 
dreadful boy ; a silly, sickening goose. He takes it into his ridi- 
culous head, I believe, to fall in love with me — at least, I believe he 
does — and I hate him." 

" You seem to hate us all, dear, don't you ? " Geraldine said with 
a smile. 

Melissa positively smiled in return. The very absurdity which 
she saw in the visit of her hapless lover seemed to rouse her into 
better spirits. 

" I don't think I hate you now so much as I did ; and, anyhow, 
I know you are just the sort of good girl to get me out of this scrape. 
How could I go and see him ? Look at my eyes ; look at my 
cheeks ; how could I see any one ? Will you see him, Miss Rowan ? 
I'll call you Geraldine if you will go and see him and send him away. 
Tell him to call to-morrow ; papa wouldn't like it if we simply turned 
him away. Say I'm not well, and I'm not well ; get rid of him for 
to-day. I needn't ask you to be kind to him, for you are kind to 
every one ; it's your way ; you like it ; I don't. But he's a nice boy, 
people say, if he were not such a fool ; and I suppose, after all, he isn't 
much more of a fool than other creatures." 

" I don't see any particular evidence of folly in what you 
say of him," Geraldine said with a kindly smile. " I am not at all 
surprised ; I can imagine a very wise boy falling in love with you." 

" Can you, really ? That's very nice of you to say, anyhow. 
But he is such a nuisance all the same, and I won't have it," Melissa 
declared with renewed energy. 

" I'll go and see him with pleasure," Miss Rowan said. " When 
may he come ? " For she fancied that, somehow, Melissa did not 
really want to have him dismissed once for all 

" I would much rather he never came, but papa wouldn't stand 
that, I am afraid, even from me. Let him come to-morrow at five. 
There will be other people here then, and he can't talk to me. He 



The Comet of a Season. 277 

can talk to you. I dare say you will discover all sorts of great and 
good qualities in him. I declare I think he is just such another 
good person as you are — good-natured and sweet ; and not malicious 
and bad-tempered, and all that, like some who shall be nameless." 

Miss Rowan went at once to see the fond youth whom Melissa 
would not favour. Clement turned round with deepened colour and 
sparkling eyes when he heard the rustle of a woman's dress. Even 
Miss Rowan, for all her short sight, could not fail to see the shade 
of disappointment which came over his face as he looked upon a 
strange young woman and not Melissa. Geraldine's heart was 
touched by his expression. He looked very handsome and winning, 
she thought, and worthy of all compassion. It came over her mind 
that if she could have a brother, she could wish to have one like 
him. 

" Miss Aquitaine begs you will excuse her," she said ; " she is 
not quite well to-day, and cannot see any one. But she hopes you 
will call to-morrow about five." 

" Miss Marion, I presume ? " Clement said. 

" No, not Miss Marion ; Miss Rowan, a friend of Captain 
Marion's — and of Miss Aquitaine, too." 

" She will see me to-morrow? " Clement asked. 

" She will see you to-morrow ; yes, certainly. She is not seriously 
unwell, but she is not well enough to see any one to-day. But she 
will see you to-morrow ; I can promise you that." 

She smiled, and held out her hand to him as he was taking his 
leave. Their eyes met ; and Clement knew, both by her look and 
by the touch of her hand, that she somehow had his secret and felt 
sympathy with him. 



Chapter IX. 

ON TOWER HILL. 

Clement Hope had come apparently on a fooFs errand. From 
the moment of his leaving Mr. Aquitaine the day before, he had been 
filled with a wild desire to take the father at his word and go straight 
away and propose for the daughter. He could not possibly have 
explained why this insane impulse took possession of him ; but it 
seized him in a moment, and could not be shaken off. 

" Anyhow, it will end the matter," he thought, and he felt a sort 
of wild and bitter desire that his repulse might be all as painful as 
Mr. Aquitaine had led him to expect. Let the knife be applied to 



278 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

the diseased part of his frame ; let the cautery burn out the idle 
passion which consumed him. The sooner the better. So he paid 
his visit, and only saw Geraldine. Next day he came again, 
promptly at five, and sent up his card to Miss Aquitaine. 

He was shown into a waiting-room, and he remained there what 
seemed to him an unending time. His pulses throbbed, and there 
was a singing in his ears, and he saw objects flickering before him. 
He sat down ; he stood up ; he tried to walk up and down the 
room. His agony was intense. A door opened at last, and a ser- 
vant came and told him Miss Aquitaine wished him to come upstairs. 
He followed, feeling more and more alarmed and confused as he 
approached nearer to the sacred presence. 

Clement had expected anything rather than the kind of anti- 
climax which awaited him. He had made up his mind that somehow 
he was to be alone with Miss Aquitaine, and now he was shown into 
a room in which his uncertain eyes could only at first make out that 
there were several persons. The room was dark with curtains and 
draperies, and closed jalousies, and lowered blinds, to keep out the 
rays of the sun ; and Clement could for a while hardly discover 
whether its occupants were people he knew or not. He stood hesi- 
tating on the threshold, and apparently looking for Miss Aquitaine, 
who did not seem in the least degree concerned to relieve his anxiety. 
His card had been just the card of the ordinary visitor, and it 
contained certainly no mysterious impress about it to forebode of a 
wild young lover and an absurd proposal ; and yet poor Clement 
had, in a vague way, taken it for granted that if he was to be seen at 
all by Miss Aquitaine, he was to be seen alone, and to have an 
opportunity of making his declaration and receiving sentence of 
banishment. Now he came into an ordinary drawing-room, with 
four or five persons, no doubt of the most commonplace kind, 
shutting off his cold-hearted true-love from his sight He advanced 
into the room, however, as composedly as he could, and he actually 
succeeded in seeing Miss Aquitaine. She was seated on an ottoman, 
her profile turned to him ; she was talking to a lady, and apparently 
not thinking about him in the least. He had to go up and call her 
attention, in the most unheroic and commonplace manner, with the 
vapid words, " How do you do, Miss Aquitaine?" 

The moment he had said these words he felt that a declaration of 
love would, under any circumstances, be impossible for that time. 

Miss Aquitaine looked round very composedly, and answered his 
question by putting the same question to him, with apparently little 
interest in any answer. 



The Comet of a Season. 279 

" How do you do, Mr. Hope ? " 

" I did not know you were in town until the other day." 

" No ? " said she. " We have not been long here." 

" I hope you are enjoying yourself," he remarked. 

" Yes," she replied, " we have been enjoying ourselves ;" in a 
manner which, whether she meant it or not, almost seemed to imply 
that at that precise moment she was not enjoying herself 

" I saw Mr. Aquitaine the day before yesterday," murmured the 
forlorn youth. 

" Indeed?" said the damsel ; " he has gone home again." 

This was dreadful. It was impossible for any lover to get on 
well after such a fashion as this. Besides, he had paid his compli- 
ments to the young lady, he had said his say, and there really 
seemed nothing for him now but either to fall back and talk to some- 
body else, or make his escape out of the room as soon as he decently 
could, and never come back any more. He tried to say another 
word or two to Melissa, but received neither assistance nor coun- 
tenance from the young lady, who was now not looking at him at all. 
He felt himself constrained to fall back. He looked round for some- 
body else to speak to. There were two or three ladies and one or 
two gentlemen. He was about wildly to address one of the men 
who was nearest, and remark to him that it was a fine day, when he 
was suddenly saved from his embarrassment by the friendly voice of 
one of the ladies. 

" I am glad to see you again, Mr. Hope. I suppose you are a 
Londoner ; now you can tell me something I want to know about 
London. We all happen to be strangers here." 

He looked in the face of the lady — the lady ? — no ; the beneficent 
and redeeming angel who had thus rescued him from utter confusion, 
had taken him by the hand and drawn him within the circle of living 
humanity. She was tall and dark, and, as he thought, strikingly 
handsome. One of the faces he most admired in art was the face of 
the ascending Madonna in that immortal picture of Titian's which 
stands in the great gallery by the Venetian canal. To his somewhat 
bewildered eyes it now seemed as though the face and the kindly 
expression of the girl talking to him were almost as beautiful and 
delightful as the Madonna of his aesthetic dreams. 

Then in an instant he saw that it was the girl who had 
spoken so kindly to him the day before, and had pledged herself 
to procure him that interview which now seemed so hopeful and satis- 
factory ; and he felt that she was asking him about London only to 
relieve him from an embarrassment which she could well understand 



28o The Gentleman! s Magazine. 

and feel for. Clement hastened to say that he knew all about 
London, and could guide anybody everywhere. It turned out that, 
among other things, Miss Rowan particularly wanted to walk round 
the Tower of London ; to see and study Tower Hill ; and she 
wanted some one to go with her and tell her all about it, and let her 
linger on any particular spot ; some one who was not a professional 
guide. Miss Marion wanted to go too, and even Melissa would go ; 
but Captain Marion hated old places, especially places down among 
dingy, narrow streets ; and other gentlemen had no particular 
knowledge of the Tower, and had only a dim recollection of having 
seen it long ago on the same day as the Thames Tunnel. Geraldine 
positively declined to go with any one who regarded the Tower from 
that point of view. Clement would have been delighted at that 
moment to act the part of one of the professional guardians of the 
Tower, beefeater costume and all, if it could have relieved him of the 
sense of being in everybody's way, and a subject of derision to him- 
self and all the earth. 

So it was arranged that next day Clement was to " personally 
conduct " a select party to Tower Hill, and that the select party 
were to walk all the way, and to be shown Eastcheap as they went 
along, in memory of the wild Prince, and Poins, and Jack FalstarT. 

It was a dull and grey afternoon when they reached the Tower. The 
day had been a very unusual one for summer ; not, indeed, unusual 
because it had been raining heavily in the forenoon, but because 
there was something more of late winter or early spring than of 
summer in the atmosphere, and even in the soft rain. When the 
rain ceased the sky was still heavily hung with grey clouds, and what 
glimpses could be seen between the dim masses were themselves 
only a faint and more delicate grey, with streaks of silvery sunlight 
slanting across. Fancy herself might have been inclined to fail before 
the prospect of a muddy walk round the Tower, but the young ladies 
who had resolved on the expedition were not so easily to be dis- 
couraged. Miss Rowan had lived in a country where you must 
make up your mind to go out occasionally in rain and snow, and 
to tramp over very muddy roads, or else resolve to house yourself 
and hibernate during all the months between late November and 
early March. To her, therefore, it seemed nothing to encounter the 
soft mud of Tower Hill and the possibility of another descent of the 
rain-showers. The Tower looked picturesque, old, and dreamlike 
under the heavy sky, of which itself was only, it might seem, a softer 
shade. With its moat, its trees, its old walls, and its round-topped 
turrets and ancient weathercocks, it looked like a building that 



The Comet of a Season. 281 

might have been moulded out of the clouds themselves, so entirely 
in harmony was it with the prevailing atmosphere. It was the 
London of an older time symbolised and made living in stone and 
mortar. Miss Rowan, like most enthusiastic girls who have been born in 
America or who have lived there, was full of interest in every memorial 
of London in its olden days, in every place which had an association 
attached to it, which brought her back to history, or poetry, or 
romance. As she looked at the Tower under that peculiar atmo- 
sphere, it seemed to her to be worthy a question whether the world 
has anywhere a pile of buildings more interesting and better fitted to 
speak to all the feelings. The river could be seen here and there ; 
and, as the sun slanted across it at one part, it seemed for the 
moment transfigured into such a silver stream as it might have been 
even there in the times when Chaucer did the customs' duties on its 
bank. 

The select party walked round the landward sides of the Tower 
gardens, doing nothing else but observing from all external points of 
view, and commenting on the manner in which each new position 
from which they looked brought out this or that picturesque or 
historical attribute. Clement was keenly interested in the Tower, 
but probably still more interested in the task of pointing out all its 
peculiarities and beauties to his companions. They became free in a 
moment from all the meaner associations of the place. They thought 
nothing of the Minories or of Lower Thames Street, or of the cab- 
stand on Tower Hill itself, or of the guides who importuned them as 
they passed the principal entrance with the request that they would 
inspect the Tower inside and see all the wonders. They were really 
absorbed in contemplation — in admiration of the Tower as it stands; 
not as a curiosity shop, but as a great historical building, made 
picturesque by its site and by its memories, even more, perhaps, 
than its material structure. But it would be rather too much to say 
that all the little party of four were equally interested. Melissa was 
neither interested nor pretended to be. She had come there simply 
because, little as she cared for the sight, she still less liked to be left 
at home by herself. She had told her companions that she only 
came because she did not choose to be left alone, and because, if 
anything was to be seen, she was not going to be what she called 
" out of the swim." But she cared not much for the historical 
associations of the Tower. She cared, perhaps, still less for its 
appearance. She thought the moat a dreary, dirty old place; 
and her chief impression of the enterprise was that it was very 
monotonous walking round rusty old railings, and that the mud was 



282 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

particularly sticky, and very distressing when one had thin and 
pretty shoes and stockings. Yet it was destined that the expedition 
should prove to be of more interest to her than to any other of the 
party. As they were preparing to make another round of the 
railings, despite Melissa's sad little protest and her eager demand to 
know whether they had not seen enough of the old thing yet, they 
saw a tall man crossing Tower Hill who looked at them, and then 
made straight for them in so direct a way that it was clear he was 
about to claim acquaintance. There was no mistaking the man 
when he came a little nearer. Melissa forgot for the moment the 
Tower, the misty atmosphere, her personal fatigue, her hatred of 
historical buildings, the mud sticking to her shoes, and the chance of 
spoiling her stockings, when she saw that the new-comer was Mr. 
Montana. 

Melissa was not the only one whose heart beat quickly when Mr. 
Montana came up and joined the party. Clement almost forgot for 
the moment the fact that his heart was broken by disappointed love 
in the surprise of keen interest which Montana's sudden appearance 
aroused in him. "Destiny — destiny itself," thought our young lover, 
" has brought me in his way just now. Here begins my rescue, my 
career." 

Miss Marion did most of the talking on behalf of the select party. 
She explained the object of their visit to that region. 

" I am here on different business," Montana said. " I am in- 
terested in an institution here —the Church of Free Souls. Let me 
walk with you for a little." 

They could not walk all five abreast round the Tower. Clement 
ccjuld not venture to fall back with Melissa ; he knew she did not 
want him. Geraldine was determined that she would not walk alone 
with Montana, and she resolutely kept with Sydney ; besides, Miss 
Marion and she were interested in the Tower, and wanted to have 
their attention directed to any new point which might have fresh 
interest. Clearly it was the duty of our young friend, since the party 
could not all walk together, to walk with the two young ladies who made 
his company welcome, and to whom he might be of positive assist- 
ance. He had come out as a guide, and they alone wanted to be 
guided. Naturally, therefore, Melissa fell behind ; and as she fell 
behind Mr. Montana walked with her. She had never before ex- 
changed more than the most formal words of conversation with him. 
She sometimes fancied that he regarded her merely as a little girl, 
with whom it was not necessary for a great man like him, occupied 
in a lofty mission, to exchange anything more than an occasional 



The Comet of a Season. 281 

might have been moulded out of the clouds themselves, so entirely 
in harmony was it with the prevailing atmosphere. It was the 
London of an older time symbolised and made living in stone and 
mortar. Miss Rowan, like most enthusiastic girls who have been born in 
America or who have lived there, was full of interest in every memorial 
of London in its olden days, in every place which had an association 
attached to it, which brought her back to history, or poetry, or 
romance. As she looked at the Tower under that peculiar atmo- 
sphere, it seemed to her to be worthy a question whether the world 
has anywhere a pile of buildings more interesting and better fitted to 
speak to all the feelings. The river could be seen here and there ; 
and, as the sun slanted across it at one part, it seemed for the 
moment transfigured into such a silver stream as it might have been 
even there in the times when Chaucer did the customs' duties on its 
bank. 

The select party walked round the landward sides of the Tower 
gardens, doing nothing else but observing from all external points of 
view, and commenting on the manner in which each new position 
from which they looked brought out this or that picturesque or 
historical attribute. Clement was keenly interested in the Tower, 
but probably still more interested in the task of pointing out all its 
peculiarities and beauties to his companions. They became free in a 
moment from all the meaner associations of the place. They thought 
nothing of the Minories or of Lower Thames Street, or of the cab- 
stand on Tower Hill itself, or of the guides who importuned them as 
they passed the principal entrance with the request that they would 
inspect the Tower inside and see all the wonders. They were really 
absorbed in contemplation — in admiration of the Tower as it stands; 
not as a curiosity shop, but as a great historical building, made 
picturesque by its site and by its memories, even more, perhaps, 
than its material structure. But it would be rather too much to say 
that all the little party of four were equally interested. Melissa was 
neither interested nor pretended to be. She had come there simply 
because, little as she cared for the sight, she still less liked to be left 
at home by herself. She had told her companions that she only 
came because she did not choose to be left alone, and because, if 
anything was to be seen, she was not going to be what she called 
" out of the swim." But she cared not much for the historical 
associations of the Tower. She cared, perhaps, still less for its 
appearance. She thought the moat a dreary, dirty old place; 
and her chief impression of the enterprise was that it was very 
monotonous walking round rusty old railings, and that the mud was 



284 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

" No, I don't think they do," said Melissa, afraid to say much 
more lest it should plainly appear that she herself did not quite 
know what the summons was. But she felt more deeply impressed 
than ever with Montana's words. If he had gone deliberately 
about to make himself attractive to Melissa, he could not have taken 
any step more aptly fitted for the purpose than this way of at once 
addressing her as if she were a grave and responsible being, interested 
like him in the problems of life. Montana was not really thinking 
about Melissa. He was only, after his fashion, finding vague imposing 
sentences to express some general idea. If he had been desirous to 
captivate the little girl, it is not impossible that he might have gone 
about it in the usual way, by addressing to her some graceful com- 
pliments and conveying with his eyes the impression that he admired 
her. That would have been powerless indeed, compared with the 
course he unconsciously took. He had lifted, as it seemed, poor 
little Melissa into his own atmosphere, into sympathy with him. She 
stood on the same plane with him; and, metaphorically at least, they 
were hand in hand. To her it seemed as if for the moment they two 
were alone. 



{To be continued.) 



28.? 



A HOL Y MISSION. 

AMONG those exiles who during the turbulent days of the 
Reformation found a home in the Eternal City, none occupied 
a more conspicuous position than Reginald Pole. On his father's 
side descended from Cadwallader, the last of the British kings, there 
ran in his veins the proud blood of the Plantagenets from his mother, 
the ill-fated Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, the daughter of George, 
Duke of Clarence ; thus by birth he was one of the most illustrious 
of the English subjects of his time. From his youth he had 
been a severe student, with the intellectual tastes of his class ; and 
there had proceeded from his pen works which had made his name 
honoured amongst the men of letters on the Continent. In a dis- 
solute age, scandal could find no fault in him ; destined for the 
Church, his life was pure, and had been throughout consistent with 
the sacred calling to which he was to belong. Educated at Oxford, 
and afterwards at Padua, he had thrown his whole soul into the cause 
not so much of Catholicism as of the Papacy. He was broad and 
tolerant in interpreting certain of the doctrines of the Church of Rome 
— indeed, he had even been accused of heresy — but he permitted 
no discussion as to the position and authority of the Pope. He was a 
Papist first and a Catholic afterwards. Sovereigns who adhered to the 
creed of Rome, but refused to admit the authority of the Vicegerent of 
Christ within their dominions, were deemed by him as outside the 
pale of the faith, an& fit only for the curses of excommunication. 

As an Ultramontane and an Englishman, Reginald Pole had 
specially interested himself in the affairs ofhiscountry. TotheReforma- 
tion he had no reason to be grateful. He had opposed the divorce of 
Henry the Eighth, had written a bitter treatise against it, and had 
been branded as a traitor, and a price set upon his head. His mother 
and brother had been imprisoned in the Tower, and had ended their 
days on the scaffold. He saw England, the country of his birth, 
declaring, through her Convocation and her Parliament, that a Catholic 
king, within his own dominions, was independent of the Papal power, 
and supreme over all causes and persons ecclesiastical and civil. 
His cherished tenet had been discarded by his countrymen, and 



286 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

the consequences that such repudiation entailed had not been 
slow to assert themselves. He saw England placed under the 
ban of excommunication, and the Catholic religion cast down from 
its lofty pre-eminence ; for Englishmen refused to profess a creed 
which forced them to acknowledge as Head of the Church a 
vindictive and brutal sensualist. He saw Protestantism and Atheism 
walking hand in hand over the ruins'of the one true faith ; he saw 
the monasteries and nunneries emptied of their inmates, and their 
wealth and lands seized by the state ; he saw the poor wandering 
about, ignorant where to turn for relief, not knowing what to believe, 
and ending by swelling the ranks of the seditious and disaffected. 
On all sides plunder, debauchery, and treachery were laying low proud 
England, and making her a byword and reproach wherev«r her name 
was mentioned. " The shadows cast by the Reformation are already 
darkening the land," exclaimed the enthusiastic Ultramontane. 

So thought Pole, as he lived amongst his Italian friends and 
discussed the future of his country. His devotion to the cause of 
the Papacy had not gone unrewarded. He had been raised to the 
dignity of a cardinal ; he had been employed on various important 
political missions ; he had played an important part at councils and 
theological meetings ; he had even been a candidate for the tiara. 
Yet, though for years he had never seen the shores of his country ; 
though his friends were Italian cardinals and prelates; though he 
held office under a foreign power — he never forgot that he was an 
Englishman, and that the land of his birth had the first claim upon 
his devotion and sympathy. " There is not a better English heart," 
wrote Sir John Masonc, our ambassador at Brussels, to Queen Mary 
shortly after her accession, 1 "within the realm than Cardinal Pole's ; 
and if things were as he wishes, Her Majesty would govern in a 
blessed estate. He always praises ripe, temperate, and modest 
proceedings. I wish to God the whole realm knew him as the Bishop 
of Norwich and I do, and had that opinion of him as in effect all 
states of Christendom have." As the prayer of St. Paul was that 
all Israel might be saved, so the chief petition in all Pole's devotions 
was that excommunicated England might be restored to the unity 
of the Roman Church and repent her of her past transgressions. 
The one fixed object of his life was, that through his instrumentality 
this union might be effected. He kept himself in constant communi- 
cation with the leaders of the English Catholic party, he embraced 
every opportunity of stemming the tide of English Protestantism, and 
he showed by his polemical treatises, his sermons, and his prayers, 

1 State Papers, Foreign, May 5, 1554 ; ed. by W. B. TurnbuU, 



A Holy Mission. 287 

that he had, above all things, the spiritual welfare of his country sin- 
cerely at heart 

At the accession of Edward the Sixth the hopes of the Cardinal 
had run high. The King was young, his opinions were not /ormed, 
he was free from the prejudices of his father — why should he not 
return to the fold and stamp out thejieresy from his kingdom before 
it had taken fixed root ? The Cardinal wrote to the Privy Council. 
He had suffered much, he said, during the last reign, but he bore 
no malice ; he forgot and forgave the past The Supreme Pontiff 
had always looked upon England with a fatherly eye, and to prove this 
affection his Holiness was now willing to send a legate with full powers to 
reconcile Edward VI. to Rome. Willingly would he, said Pole, if wished, 
accept the holy office. No notice was, however, taken by the members 
of the Council of this letter ; but so hostile were they to its contents, 
that the bearer of it had to fly for his life. Nothing discouraged, Pole 
now wrote to the young King ; but with no better success. Edward had 
been educated in hatred of that Church which had excommunicated 
his father, and was staunchly in favour of the new religion ; the rejec- 
tion of the Papal authority suited the stout feelings of English inde- 
pendence ; whilst the lords and gentry who had been enriched by the 
spoliation of the monasteries had no intention of re-establishing the 
old religion, and thus being compelled to disgorge their illicit wealth. 
It was evident to Pole that it was now idle to force measures ; he 
must bide his time and study a more favourable opportunity. The 
young King was sickly, and it might be that within a few years, 
before he had time or health to provide a successor to the throne, he 
would quit the world and leave the kingdom to his sister Mary, 
whose # devotion to the Holy See none could doubt The Cardinal 
withdrew himself from public affairs and retired to the convent of 
Magguzzano, on the banks of the Lago di Guarda. Here for the next 
few years he studied, wrote, and said masses for the conversion of 
heretic England, only varying his seclusion by occasional visits to his 
friend Julius the Third, who then wore the tiara. 

Then the event occurred for which Pole had so long hoped. Edward 
the Sixth, who soon after his accession had given his subjects no ex- 
pectations of along reign, had, after a lingering illness, been gathered 
to his fathers. Mary, though hindered for a time by the intrigues of 
Northumberland in favour of Lady Jane Grey, claimed the crown, 
and was welcomed by the people. When ti.e news of the accession of 
his cousin reached Pole in the solitude of his monastery, his joy 
was unbounded. At last the dream of his life was to be realised ! 
England was to return to the faith of her ancestors, and the 



288 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

blessing of the Holy Father was once more to illumine the land ; 
the cold maimed rites of Protestantism were to give way to the 
splendid ceremonial of the one true Church ; processions, with their 
banners, incense, and white-robed priests, were again to walk the 
streets with the Host held on high for adoration : monasteries and 
nunneries once more were to spring up from the ruins that now strewed 
the ground ; the poor would now know where to seek for shelter and 
relief ; the priests were to be really the ordained servants of the altar, 
and no self-elected intruders ; England was again to be Catholic and 
Popish ! The enthusiastic Cardinal already saw himself the ambassador 
of Rome, blessing his countrymen and receiving their homage. 

He at once penned an epistle to the Pope informing him of the 
good news. "I cannot delay congratulating your Holiness," he 
wrote; 1 "the nature of the event appearing to me such, that 
since many years nothing has occurred in Christendom on which 
one could more reasonably congratulate any Christian mind, 
and especially that of your Holiness, this being a manifest victory 
of God over the long-cogitated malice of man corroborated by such 
great forces and means for the attainment of his perverse ends. 
And God of His goodness, to render His proceedings more illustrious, 
has chosen to annihilate in one moment all these long-cherished 
projects by means of a woman, who for so many years has suffered 
contrary to all justice, being in a state of oppression shortly before 
this took place, and who is now victorious and called to the throne ; 
thus affording reasonable hopes that together with her there will be 
called to reign in that island justice, piety, and the true religion, 
which have hitherto been utterly crushed, and that the kingdom will 
return to its obedience in like manner as its alienation was the com- 
mencement and cause of its utter ruin." Pole was summoned to 
Rome. His birth, his devotion to the cause of Katherine of Aragon, 
his talents, his loyalty to the Holy See, all pointed him out as the 
one man to watch over the spiritual interests of England. He was 
appointed Legate from the Apostolic See, with full powers to effect a 
reconciliation between Rome and the heretic island. He wrote 
to Mary. He blessed the " right hand of the Lord " for having 
placed so faithful a daughter of the Church upon the throne. Her 
accession without bloodshed only proved how powerfully she was 
protected by the Almighty, and how the Holy Spirit had willed that 
the malice of her enemies should be defeated. Therefore, having 
received such especial favour from the Divine goodness, she was more 

1 State Papers relating to English affairs existing in the Archives of Venice. 
Edited by Rawdon Brown. August 7, 1553. The letters of Pole in the* 
volumes are of great importance. 



A Holy Mission. 289 

than ordinarily bound, he said, to see that her kingdom returned to its 
former obedience to the Apostolic See, and that the true religion of the 
Apostolic Church were fully restored. For in this point of obedience to 
the Church, warned Pole, consisted the establishment of her crown and 
the entire welfare of her kingdom. He then informed her that he had 
been appointed Legate, to congratulate her " on the victory of God in 
this cause." He had always been conscious, he wrote, of " her gratitude 
towards God and the internal affection of her heart for obedience to 
the Divine laws and institutions, including the obedience to the 
Apostolic See which Her Highness, above all others, is bound to favour, 
as for no other cause did the King her father renounce it, than 
because the Roman Pontiff persevered in favouring her cause and 
would never consent to his strange and iniquitous desire." He con- 
cluded by wishing to hear from her " the time and mode which she 
would wish him to observe in performing the embassy to her from the 
Vicar of the Lord, for her own comfort and the benefit of the realm." ! 

A few days later he wrote to her again on the subject, 
stating especially how anxious he was to see the Queen "render 
the title of the primacy of the Church on earth to whom the 
Supreme Head both of heaven and earth has given it. . . . Of 
how great importance and moment this is, both for England and the 
Church of God, your Majesty, without the perusal of books which 
treat this matter, may read, I say, in the much clearer testimony of the 
blood of those who you knew were considered the first in the king- 
dom for their fame of true doctrine and religion." 2 His anxiety that 
England before all things should swear fealty to the Pope, and remove 
the scandal of a woman having to sign herself as " Head of the 
Church," was grievous in the extreme. Stephen Gardyner, the Bishop 
of Winchester, had been released from his prison in the Tower, and 
was now on the Council. Pole wrote to him to advise the Queen 
aright in this momentous matter. No greater opportunity, hinted the 
Cardinal, could be offered the liberated prelate for serving his God and 
his country, than for him now to use all his energies to restore to the 
Roman Church her just title of supremacy, and to do so regardless of 
any worldly consideration. Until His Holiness was considered as Head 
of the Church in England all else was idle. 3 Yet it was not until 
early in the year 1555 that Pole's prayer was answered and the Act 
of the Royal Supremacy repealed. 

The truth was, that, desirous as Mary proved herself to be to 

1 State Papers relating to English affairs existing in the Archives of Venice. 
August 13, 1553. 

* Ibid. August 27, 1553- * Ibid - August 28, 1553. 

VOL. CCL. NO. 1803. TJ 



290 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

restore wholly and fully the Catholic faith, she was now completely 
in the hands of her advisers, and had to act with much caution. 
She ruled a people who were divided in their sympathies ; who 
were divided between Protestantism and Catholicism, between the 
daughter of Katherine of Aragon and the daughter of Anne Boleyn. 
It was true that Mary was on the throne, but her position was insecure, 
and she was surrounded by enemies. To offend her subjects at the 
very outset of her reign by any act which would arouse their national 
or religious prejudices would be most injudicious. She was therefore 
counselled to proceed warily, and at this time she was in a mood to 
accept advice. 

Meanwhile Pole had quitted his retreat on the banks of the Lago 
di Guarda, and was on his way to his destination. " If the moment 
has not yet come," he wrote to one of his Italian friends, 1 " for me 
to go straight to England, yet is the time mature for me to be in the 
neighbourhood, to enable me to assist the Queen's good intention." 
His first resting-place was at Trent, where he was received " most 
lovingly and with every sort of courtesy." Here a letter awaited him 
from Mary. It was addressed to her "good cousin and most blessed 
Father in Christ" The Queen expressed her thanks to the Cardinal 
for the counsel contained in his letters : " For which advice," she 
wrote, 2 " even were you not joined to me by nature as you are, I would 
nevertheless be bound to return you most cordial acknowledgments, 
assuring you that — through the assistance of the grace of God, to 
whom I feel very much bound to render the most humble thanks for 
this — I never was, and hope of His mercy I never shall be, opposed 
to your good and spiritual exhortation as contained in your letters." 
Yet Mary hinted there were difficulties in the way of following the 
Cardinal's advice. Most desirous was she to show her obedience and 
due devotion towards the Church of Christ and her spiritual mother 
the Catholic and Apostolic Church ; still was she unable at present, by 
any fitting means, to manifest the whole intent of her heart in this 
matter. " But so soon," she continued, " as it shall be in my power, 
by any suitable and possible mode, to declare to the world my due 
and sincere intention, I will not fail in announcing this to my good 
cousin." Having full trust in the miraculous mercy of God, she felt 
sure, she said, that the present Parliament would abolish " all those 
statutes which have been the cause of all England's afflictions ;" and 
when tiiat time arrived, she would then apply to the Pope for a general 

1 State Papers relating to English affairs existing in the Archives of Venice. 
September 8, 1553. 

• Ibid. October 8, 1553. 



A Holy Mission. 291 

pardon. She concluded by praying Pole to beg His Holiness to 
continue his multiplied goodness towards her, and ever to prove her 
friend. 

From Trent the Cardinal proceeded on his way towards Augs- 
burg ; and on nearing that town, was induced by its bishop to 
stay at the monastery of Dillingen, on the banks of the Danube. 
Here he remained a few days ; but anxious to have an interview with 
the Emperor, Charles the Fifth, the cousin of Mary, who, he heard, 
was then at Brussels, he started off somewhat hurriedly to Flanders. 
He had not travelled many miles, when he was met by Don Juan de 
Mendoza, the Imperial Minister, accompanied by a splendid retinue. 
The Emperor had several reasons why it was inexpedient for Pole to 
visit England at the present time. The Spanish match was under 
discussion, and Charles was most anxious that the English people 
should not be unnecessarily irritated until the marriage had taken 
place. The question of the revival of the Catholic religion had 
caused the position of the Princess Elizabeth to become very for- 
midable. Mary was not popular. The people, hating the Spaniards 
and the authority of the Pope, were ready at the slightest provocation 
to break out into revolt The arrival of Pole in the capacity of 
legate, whilst this feeling was uppermost, could only result in evil — 
the marriage between Philip and Mary would be broken off by the 
angry English, and the nation strengthened in its atheism and its 
Protestantism. Such were the reasons which the imperial ambas- 
sador at the court of Mary had given to his master for the deferring of 
Pole's mission, and Charles determined to act upon them. The 
Emperor cared very little whether England was Catholic or not ; but 
he cared very much whether she was to be his ally or the opposite in 
his war against France. Mendoza was therefore at once despatched 
to stay the progress of the Cardinal. The envoy greeted Pole with 
ever)' homage that courtesy could inspire, and then delivered his 
orders. It was the wish both of the Emperor and of the Queen of 
England, he said, that the legate should not proceed farther on 
his journey. The time was not meet either to propound proposals of 
peace between the Empire and France, or to assert the authority of 
the Papacy in England. Important matters had to be first settled 
before the mission of his Grace could be entered upon. The Spanish 
marriage must have taken place, and England assured, before she 
did homage to the Holy See, that the Pope would not interfere with 
the secularisation of Church property. At present the opportunity 
was not fitting, and it was the request of his Imperial Majesty that 

the legate should return to Dillingen until the hour was more pro- 

u z 



292 The Gentleman! s Magazine. 

pitious for the object his grace had at heart With these views Pole far 
from agreed ; aware, however, that without the assistance of the Emperor 
his mission would be futile, he felt he had no alternative but to retrace 
his steps to the convent, and await the " fitting opportunity." 1 

Still, he had no intention of tamely submitting to this rebuff. He 
was an Englishman, and he believed he knew better than any foreign 
potentate what was the best course to pursue to gain the hearts of 
his countrymen. Full of zeal, intent upon one end, and listening 
only to the opinions of the English Catholics, he felt assured that he 
had but to land at Dover and hold on high his legate's cross for the 
people to flock around him and repudiate their heresy. He believed 
that England was still the England of the days when he was an under- 
graduate at Magdalen and preparing for the Church. He was ignorant 
of the liberalism that during the interval of his exile had impregnated 
all classes, making the power and pretensions of the Papacy to stink in 
the nostrils of Protestant and infidel England. His pen was always 
his great solace, and now he wrote to the Emperor. The more he 
considered this stoppage, he said, the less did it seem to him in 
accordance with the honour of the Apostolic See and with the 
obligation of Queen Mary to God and to her own advantage. To 
delay the obedience of England to the Church was most unwise. 
The principal foundation of Mary's right to the crown rested on the 
legitimacy of her mother's marriage, which depended on the Papal 
dispensation. Hence, by abrogating the authority of the Pope, the 
right of the Queen to the English throne was in like manner abro- 
gated, and by deferring the establishment of the Papal authority the 
establishment of Mary's right of succession was also deferred. It 
therefore seemed that the " maturity of the time " depended entirely 
on the arrival of the Papal legate in England to confirm the Queen's 
claim to the crown. He therefore begged his Imperial Majesty to 
find means for speedily removing any impediment to this journey, so 
that he, Pole, might come to Brussels forthwith to fulfil his legatine 
office " for the preservation of peace and the unity of the Church, to 
the honour of God, the general benefit of Christendom, the personal 
advantage of the Queen of England, and the increase of the honour 
of the Emperor." 2 

To Mary he wrote in a more imperative strain. It ill became 
her, he lectured, to dissemble this cause of the union and obedience 
of the Church and to hide the light that Christ had given her 

1 State Papers relating to English affairs existing in the Archives of Venue 
Pole to the Pope. October 27, 1553. 
« Ibid. October 28, 1553. 



A Holy Mission. 293 

to illumine the whole kingdom under a bushel for dread of turmoil. 
He who had so miraculously assisted her in the past would 
assuredly assist her in the future. England had thrown herself over- 
board from St. Peter's ship ; but God and the Apostolic See had 
shown her the mode of escaping from the waves by re-entering the 
vessel. Those who remained out of the ark and were overwhelmed 
by the flood at the time of the Deluge never, he warned, incurred 
greater danger than those whose souls were now flooded by increasing 
cupidity and depraved opinions. Nor must her Majesty suppose herself 
in less danger because in her mind she had never departed from the 
ark or from her obedience to the Church, though she had consorted 
with those who plunged overboard. Before her accession such an 
excuse might have been accepted, but the accusation now became all 
the graver since, being saved herself, she ought to save others, just as 
the pilot of a ship put his hand at once to the helm, but if he delayed, 
hesitated, and consulted in the mean while, the crew would perish* 
Her Majesty had received from God the spirit of counsel ; let her be 
guided by it, and not by the mere instincts of nature. It was of far 
more importance for her kingdom to become the spouse of the Church 
than for herself to be united to the most powerful potentate. He 
hoped to hear from her that he was to proceed on his way. l 

This letter had the desired result. Mary wrote to the Bishop of 
Norwich, her ambassador at Brussels, commissioning him to receive 
the legate and to introduce him to the Emperor. She also requested 
him to deliver a message in hep name to Pole to the effect that she 
hoped in the Divine goodness soon to see the Cardinal in his native 
land, when she should be able more freely and fully to unbosom herself 
to him, and that his coming would give her very good comfort 2 A few 
days later the legate received a letter from the Emperor inviting him 
to Brussels, saying that " the sooner he went thither the better would 
his Majesty be pleased" On the receipt of this grateful intelligence 
Pole immediately set out on his travels. As he approached Brussels 
he was met by the Duke of Savoy and a vast retinue of the Flemish 
nobility and clergy, and conducted to his quarters within the town. 
The following day he had a long interview with the Emperor, but the 
result of the conversation was not satisfactory. The Empire was not 
averse to peace with France, explained Charles, but it was not content 
with the terms that had hitherto been proposed, " provided means be 
found," said he, " for making a peace fair and durable. I never intend 

1 State Papers relating to English affairs existing in the Archives of Venice. 
December i f 1553. 

* Ibid. January 23, 1554. 



294 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

to exclude the negotiations." And, as regarded England, Pole now 
saw for himself, without the convincing arguments of the Emperor, 
that the hour had not yet come for him to cross the narrow seas and 
absolve the heretic. The people had risen against the Spanish 
match; Wyatt, with his disaffected troops, was marching upon 
London ; Mary was in supreme danger. For weeks Pole scanned 
the news with the keenest anxiety ; then, to his joy, he saw that all 
occasion for fear was over, and that the Queen was more solidly 
established on the throne than ever. Wyatt had failed ; sentence of 
death was freely passed upon the rebels ; opposition had been silenced* 

And now the great desire of the heart of Mary was to be accom- 
plished. Philip, to whom she had been united by proxy some weeks 
before, landed at Dover, and his love-sick wife was folded in his cold 
and mercenary embraces. The legate, watching'the turn of events from 
his lodgings at Brussels, wrote to the husband congratulating him 
and wishing him all prosperity. He had, he said, 1 a double claim to 
be heard, being legate from the Pope for the purpose of reconciling 
England to the Church, and of establishing peace between the Empire 
and France. This union between England and Spain encouraged him 
to hope for the best. The Queen, to whom the crown belonged by 
hereditary right, had always looked with a favourable eye upon His 
Majesty, admiring his endowments and prerogatives, but especially 
his inherited title of " Catholic " And she had now summoned him 
to be joined in the most holy bond of matrimony for the defence 
and maintenance of that Catholic faith which had been so harassed 
in England. At the same time, the Cardinal wrote to Mary reminding 
her that her kingdom was as yet outside the pale of the Church, and 
that she should not rest till England had made her peace with the 
Holy See. He was there to receive her and her subjects, let them 
not turn a deaf ear to the divine summons. 

Still, months sped on, and no humble request was despatched to 
Brussels to bid the legate cross the sea and accept the penitent submis- 
sion of the wanderers from the fold. No messenger knocked at his 
door, no letter came addressed to him. Pole was mortified and was 
waxing impatient. If Mary were sincere in her wishes, no obstacle 
now stood in her way. Her throne was safe, her kingdom settled, the 
Spanish match consummated ; no State reasons could be alleged why 
it was advisable to delay any longer reconciliation with Rome. Pole 
again took up his pen and wrote to Philip. It was now a year since, 
he complained, 3 that he commenced knocking at Philip's gate, but as 

1 State Papers relating to English affairs existing in the Archives of Venice. 
July II, 1554. 

* Ibid. September ai, 1554. 



A Holy Mission. 295 

yet no one had opened its doors to him. Were the king to ask, " Who 
knocks ? " he would receive the reply, " I am he who, in order 
not to exclude your consort from the palace of England, endured 
expulsion from home and country and twenty years of exile." 
Were he only to say this, did it not make him seem worthy to 
return to his country and have access to the king ? But since he 
was not acting in his own name, nor as a private person, he knocked 
and demanded in the name and person of the Vicegerent of the King 
of Kings and the Pastor of men, namely, the successor of Peter, or 
rather Peter himself, whose authority, heretofore so flourishing and 
vigorous in England, was now ignored and rejected. We know, he 
said, how Mary welcomed the apostle released by an angel from his 
prison when he knocked at the door, but could the same be said of 
Mary the Queen ? Was it fear or joy that forbade her to open the door, 
above all, now that she had heard the voice of Peter, and knew for 
certain that he had been long knocking? Well did he know that 
the Queen rejoiced — but she also feared ; had she not feared, she would 
not have so long delayed. If she rejoiced in Peter's release, if she 
acknowledged the miracle of her accession, what prevented her from 
giving him admittance when he came to the gate, and returning due 
thanks to God, especially now that Herod was dead and she had 
inherited his whole empire ? The Cardinal therefore wrote to Philip, 
" a most religious prince," to remove the fears of his consort and to 
lead her in the right path. Other ambassadors, said Pole reproachfully, 
have had the door opened to them, while alone to the legate it had 
remained closed. It was for King Philip to consider whether, being a 
Catholic prince and one who had inherited the title of " Defender of 
the Faith," it became him to receive all foreign ministers who 
approached him to offer congratulations, whilst the legate of St. Peter's 
successor — that legate, too, who had been sent to confirm his Majesty 
on his throne — was denied admission. Might it not be feared lest 
Christ took offence at the immediate reception of the ambassadors of all 
other princes, whilst His own ambassador remained waiting without ? 
The reception of Christ's legate should have taken precedence of all; 
as in every building the foundation stone was entitled to the first place. 
The kingdom could not be secure unless based on obedience to the 
Church, which, when abolished, discord at once arose and. the pro- 
sperity of the realm vanished Therefore it was imperative upon his 
Majesty to receive forthwith him who had been sent by God and 
His Vicar. 

This letter brought matters to a crisis. If Pole were ever to land 
in England, the present moment was as opportune for the purpose 



296 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

as any other. A messenger was accordingly despatched to Brussels 
to arrange certain details. The legate was to pledge himself 
not to interfere with such Church property as had been secularised 
in the last two reigns ; and as it was considered advisable that he 
should enter England, not as legate, but as a Prince of the Church 
and an Englishman, he was to comply with this decision. These 
points settled, Pole prepared for his journey. 

Lord Paget and Sir Edward Hastings, the Master of the Horse, 
crossed the Channel to escort him to England. The envoys were 
charmed with the Cardinal "Whensoever he shall be in Eng- 
land," they wrote to their Queen/ "believe that country shall fare 
the better for him, for he is the man of God, full of all godliness and 
virtue, ready to humble himself to all fashions that may do good." 
From Brussels to Calais his Eminence travelled by easy stages, " for 
his weak body," said Paget, " can make no great journeys, and his 
estate also is to be considered." At Calais he was received by the 
governor with every honour ; the bells rang, the men-of-war in the 
harbour fired salutes, and an enthusiastic crowd cheered his name 
and mission in front of his lodgings. The next day, the weather 
being propitious, Pole crossed over to Dover, and having rested the 
night, took horse, escorted by a powerful cavalcade of neighbouring 
gentry, to Canterbury. As the legate passed slowly along that un- 
dulating highway, trod by the feet of so many pilgrims, which leads 
to the famous cathedral town, not a hostile glance was levelled at 
him, not an irreverent remark was heard. Some looked on in silent 
curiosity ; others knelt in the roadway and bent their heads beneath 
the blessing hand ; from the throats of most of them rose the cry, 
" God save your Grace," for, cardinal or no, he came of the proud 
stock of the Plantagenets, and in those days Englishmen thought far 
from lightly of the names which were then historical in the land. 
From Canterbury Pole rode slowly on to Rochester, where he became 
the guest of Lord Cobham. At Gravesend was moored the legate's 
barge, splendid in its trappings, and with the silver cross, which he 
had now received permission to exhibit, conspicuous at its prow. 
He sailed down the Thames, the river being crowded with gaily 
dressed craft, and, after a voyage of three hours, landed at Whitehall 
Stairs, where he was received by Philip and Mary with every appear- 
ance of homage and affection. Lambeth Palace, now that Cranmer 
had been deposed, was assigned him as his quarters. 

St. Andrew's Day had been fixed for the solemn ceremony of 
restoring backsliding England to the Apostolic fold When the 

1 State ra/t-n; Foreign, November 13, 1554 ; edited by W. B. Turnbull. 



A Holy Mission. 297 

appointed time arrived the greatest excitement prevailed, and it was 
remarked that many of the lower classes who hung about Lambeth 
and the Palace gates were in tears. Those who spoke disparagingly 
of what was about to take place were in the minority, and but few 
dared to give open expression to adverse opinions. The tone of the 
people was reverent and charged with deep emotion. Parliament 
met in the early dusk of a November afternoon at Whitehall. On a 
raised dais sat the King and Queen under a canopy of cloth of gold, 
with the Cardinal on their right, his chair slightly in advance of the 
royal seat. Facing the distinguished three, crowding every inch of the 
great hall, were the nobles and the commons, with such spectators as 
had obtained permission to attend. When silence had been restored, 
Gardiner, then Lord Chancellor, at the bidding of their majesties, 
opened the proceedings. He read from a written paper, and his 
words were to the effect that England, represented by her Parlia- 
ment, expressed her deep repentance for her past schism and dis- 
obedience, and implored the Apostolic See to receive her again into 
the bosom and unity of Christ's Church. The perusal finished, 
all eyes were fixed upon Pole. The moment that he had so long 
prayed for in his cell by the waters of the Lago di Guarda had at 
last arrived, the end for which he had defied sickness and fatigue 
had been attained, the goal of his ambition had been reached, and 
before him stood the once proud, rebellious England, penitent and 
submissive, begging grace for her misdeeds. His heart was full, and 
his voice trembled as he spoke a few prefatory words from his chair. 
England, he said, should indeed be grateful to the Almighty for 
bringing her to the unity of the Church and to the obedience of the 
See Apostolic As in the days of the primitive Church she had been 
the first to be called from heathenism to Christianity, so now she 
was the first of Protestant peoples to whom grace had been granted 
to repent her of her past heresy. If heaven, he exclaimed, rejoiced 
over the conversion of one penitent sinner, how great must be the 
celestial joy over the conversion of an entire nation ! Then he rose 
from his seat and lifted his right hand. 

The moment of reconciliation had arrived ; the whole audience 
fell on their knees and awaited in the stillest silence, broken 
only now and then by the smothered sob of an emotion that could 
not be controlled, the removal of the ban of excommunication. 
" Our Lord Jesus Christ," said the legate in tones that filled every 
corner of the charnber, " who has through His most precious blood 
redeemed and washed us from all our sins and iniquities, that He 
might purchase unto Himself a glorious spouse without spot or 



298 The Gentleman '$ Magazine. 

wrinkle, whom the Father has appointed Head over all His Church ; 
He by His mercy absolves you, and We, by Apostolic authority given 
unto us by the Most Holy Lord Pope Julius the Third, His vice- 
gerent on earth, do absolve and deliver you and every of you, with 
this whole realm and the dominions thereof, from all heresy and 
schism and from all and every judgment, censure, and pain for that 
cause incurred And We do restore you again into the unity of Our 
Mother the Holy Church, in the name of the Father, of the Son, and 
of the Holy Ghost" His words ended, there rose up, from the 
relieved yet awe-stricken congregation, " a spontaneous and repeated 
shout of Amen, amen." l Their majesties now made a move, followed 
by their subjects, to the Palace chapel, where the organ pealed forth 
the jubilant strains of the Te Dmm. 

Alone in his chamber at Lambeth, with a heart full of gratitude 
that the great object of his life had been permitted to be realised, 
Pole took up his pen to inform his master of the success of his 
" Holy Mission." 2 He described in detail the chief features of the 
ceremony. " It took place," he said, " in full Parliament, in the 
presence of the sovereigns, with such universal consent and applause, 
that when at the close I gave absolution by blessing the congrega- 
tion, there was a spontaneous and repeated shout of 'Amen, amen.'" 
He bestowed exuberant praise upon Philip and Mary. Philip, though 
the husband and therefore the head of the spouse, yet treated his wife 
with such deference as to appear her son, " thus giving promise of 
the best result" As for Mary, " she has spiritually generated England 
before giving birth to that heir of whom there is very great hope." 
How grateful should we all be to God, to the Pope, and to the Emperor, 
he exclaimed, for concerting so holy a marriage ! — " A marriage," 
he cried, his enthusiasm clouding his common sense, and causing him 
to degenerate into terrible blasphemy, " a marriage formed after the 
very pattern of that of Our Most High King, who, being Heir of the 
world, was sent down by His Father from His throne to be at once 
the Spouse and the Son of the Virgin Mary, and be made the Com- 
forter and the Saviour of mankind. So in like manner the greatest 
of all the princes upon earth, the heir of his father's kingdom, 
departed from his own broad and happy realms, that he might come 
hither into this land of trouble, to be spouse and son of this virgin ; 
for, though husband he be, he so bears himself towards her as if he 
were her son, in order that he may reconcile this nation to Christ and 

1 State Papers relating to English affairs existing in the Archives of Venice, 
Pole to the Pope. November 30, 1554. 

2 Ibid. 



A Holy Mission. 2$$ 

the Church." Could parallel be more revolting than the comparison 
of Philip, cruel and licentious, with the Redeemer of mankind ! 

England had sworn fealty to the Pope ; still, the object of the 
legate was twofold — to have the Papal supremacy acknowledged, and 
to stamp out the heresies that had sprung up in the English Church. 
A kind and amiable man in private life, Pole was severity itself where 
the favourite tenet of his creed was concerned. He would use all 
his persuasive powers to convert the heretic from his errors ; but if 
such a one persistently refused to turn towards the light, let him at 
once be put away and cast into outer darkness. In the memor- 
able Marian persecutions Cardinal Pole took a leading part. His 
voice was ever in favour of mercy, provided there seemed a prospect 
of a recantation from the heretic; but when no such hope was held 
out, no judge was sterner or more inflexible than the legate. Hard 
and intolerant as he was on these occasions, his conduct was but the 
logical result of a sincere belief in his creed. Outside the pale of the 
Catholic Church he thought there was no salvation ; to bring all within 
the fold was therefore the object of every true son of the Church ; 
those who created schism and disseminated heresies were guilty of 
the most awful of all crimes — the eternal destruction of immortal 
souls. To the man who destroyed the body the penalty of death was 
dealt out ; was he who damned the soul to be more mercifully treated? 
In the eyes of Pole, a heretic was the greatest enemy of God and 
man. " For be you assured," said he, when lecturing the citizens of 
London upon their sympathy with the Protestant martyrs, " there is 
no kind of men so pernicious to the commonwealth as these heretics 
be ; there are no thieves, no murderers, no adulterers, nor no kind 
of treason to be compared to theirs, who, as it were, undermining the 
chief foundation of all commonwealths, which is religion, maketh an 
entry to all kinds of vices in the most heinous manner." The con- 
duct of Pole during the short period he held office in England reveals 
the true nature of the creed of Rome where its actions are unfettered 
by the civil power. As a consistent Catholic, possessing the oppor- 
tunity of enforcing his principles, the legate could not, and ought not 
to, have acted otherwise. 

On the condemnation of Cranmer, Pole was raised to the See 
of Canterbury. He was consecrated March 22, 1556, in Grey Friars 
Church, and on the following day took the oath of allegiance to 
the Pope. The new archbishop, attaching much importance to the 
receiving of the pall from Rome, declined to enter upon his duties 
until such article had arrived, and thus, as it were, expressed the 
full Papal approval of the appointment His Grace had not long to 



300 The Gentleman! s Magazine. 

wait. A few days after his consecration Pole, "accompanied by 
many lords and barons, and by some of the members of the Council," 
repaired to Bow Church, and there with all solemnity received the 
pall. On the conclusion of the ceremony he was asked by the 
parishioners if he would deign "to commence by giving some 
spiritual food to those souls which God had committed to his charge." 
The legate at once complied with their request There were some, 
doubtless, among his congregation, he^aid, 1 who would listen to him 
out of curiosity or to criticise his words, but to such he would 
observe that any other learned and elegant scholar might satisfy them 
vastly better than he was able. Still, he was sure there were also 
some who would listen to him for the fame of the Word of God, and 
these he was ready to satisfy, for never should the words of Holy Writ 
be applied to him: "The young children ask bread, and no man 
breaketh it unto them." Neither would he imitate those masters who, 
eating white bread, give black and unsifted to their servants. He 
would give them the same as he himself ate, and this bread was 
nothing but the Word of God, which, received in the form and sense 
in which it was offered, produced miraculous effects and bore the 
fruit of life for him who embraced it. After alluding to the cause of 
his coming into England, " for the sake of reconciling this kingdom 
to God, from whom it had so miserably severed itself, like a limb 
from its head," he proceeded to explain the ceremony and signifi- 
cance of the pall which he had just received. " So long ago," he 
said, "as in the time of the Primitive Church, when any one was 
consecrated as archbishop, by which consecration a power was con- 
ferred of such a nature as to be supreme after that of Christ's Vicar 
on earth, yet it was not lawful to exercise such power until after 
having received this pallium, which, being taken from the body of 
St Peter and placed on the archbishop elect, merely signified that, as 
his power and authority proceeded from that body, so likewise in all 
his actions he was bound to render a corresponding obedience, like 
that of members to their head. Thus our Holy Mother Church, ever 
guided by the Holy Spirit, ordained this ceremony, lest the arch- 
bishops, having such great authority and detaching themselves from 
their head, they might cause much turmoil and disorder in the 
Church, instead of acknowledging this power as held neither of 
themselves, nor of others but solely of Christ's Vicar, who is the 
Roman Pontiff, so that by this regulation the unity of the Church 
might be preserved for ever. And though in bygone times it 

1 State Papas relating to English affairs existing in the Archives of Venice. 

Ma y 3, 1556. 



A Holy Mission. 301 

was greatly disturbed by certain archbishops and patriarchs, it has 
nevertheless been seen for a notable example that those who acted 
thus, together with the countries committed to their government, 
have been by God most severely punished, as were the Patriarchs of 
Constantinople and of Alexandria, who, having strayed and separated 
themselves from this unity, passed, by the just judgment of God, 
under the cruel tyranny and insupportable yoke of the Turks, under 
which they existed so miserably for so long a while, as is notorious to 
everybody. The Archbishop of Ravenna, in like manner, of yore 
greatly opposed this unity, but at length, perceiving his error, was 
reconciled to and rejoined this head. Thus, then, an archbishop 
cannot exercise the power given him by the act of consecration 
until he receive authority to do so by means of this pallium, taken, as 
I have said, from the body of St. Peter, and transmitted to him by 
Christ's Vicar. .... And the archbishops so being invested with 
this pallium made of the wool of lambs, and in the form of a cross, 
ought at the same time to array themselves in humility, charity, and 
patience, and take up the cross, and be ever ready in need to peril 
their own lives for the salvation of their flocks, and by all their 
actions pray the immaculate Lamb for the gift of prudence and of 
good government, both of themselves and of those committed to 
their care." 

After having delivered this lecture upon the pall, the reception of 
which had so often led to disputes between England and Rome, 
Pole then descanted upon the charms of peace. There was only 
one way, he said, of obtaining true peace. It was not to be found in 
the science of philosophers, in the wealth of the rich, in the honours 
and pleasures of the great. Solomon tasted all the most exquisite 
delights that man in this world could enjoy, and yet at the end he said 
openly that everything was but vanity and vexation of spirit. True 
peace and felicity were only to be found in the fear of God and the 
execution of His holy commandments. And such peace was open 
to all classes to obtain, for the only things necessary were to em- 
brace Christ our Saviour, who was our true peace, and to obey the 
teachings of the Church. " The which peace," said Pole, with tears 
in his eyes, " will quiet your hearts, illumine your minds, and cause 
you to despise the vain and transitory affairs of this world, making 
you journey in the way of the Lord, possessing in yourselves the light 
of life eternal ; and when listening to the Word of God, should you 
perchance ever doubt of any point, you should ask its explanation 
with all humility, as did the glorious Virgin, and not with a dispo- 
sition to judge the Word of God as it was judged by Eve, interpreting 



302 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

it according to your own sense, but rather that, by knowing the will 
of God, you may be better enabled to execute it And to whom will 
you apply for this information ? — surely, to none others than to those 
whom God has appointed through His spouse the Church, with which 
it will ever remain till the end of time, namely to your curates and 
ordinaries; and immediately on hearing in what sense you ought to 
take it conformably to the doctrine of the Holy Catholic Church, 
then ought you to be ready to execute what you know to be the will 
of God in like manner as did the glorious Virgin, who said, ' Ecce 
ancilla Domini, fiat mihi secundum verbum tuura;' and do you thus 
make a sacrifice of your hearts to God and be ready to keep His holy 
commandments, and then He will come to you, and dwell with you, 
bringing you the true internal peace, together with the treasure of His 
wisdom, giving you in this world extreme happiness, and in the 
other, life and peace eternal; which may God grant to all for ever 
and ever. Amen." 

" I confess to you honestly," wrote Marco Faitta, the Cardinal's 
secretary, 1 to Yppolito Chizzola, a priest of Venice — who, by the way, 
was accused at Rome of Lutheranism — " and in all truth, that the 
greater the grace with which his Right Reverend Lordship delivered 
this brief sermon thus unprepared, by so much the less is that with 
which I have described it, omitting moreover many things which I 
did not write down at the moment, because I was unable to follow 
so rapidly as he preached." On the conclusion of the sermon the 
Cardinal went to dine with the Earl of Pembroke, " this being the 
first time he has eaten abroad, and the said earl treated him very 
honourably." 

Legate and archbishop, a prince of the Church and the constant 
adviser of the throne, Pole had obtained, of honour and dignity, 
almost all that the world had in its gift. He was now, when his 
prosperity was most dazzling, to take to heart his own words and learn 
by his own mortifications that mundane glory was but vanity and 
vexation of spirit. Seated in the chair of St Peter was now no longer 
the friendly Julius, but a pontiff who had always proved himself the 
bitterest enemy of the English legate. John Peter Caraffa had been 
elected, solely by the influence of France, to wear the tiara as 
Paul IV., and consequently his sympathies in the political disputes 
of the hour were entirely French. War, in spite of the diplomatic 
efforts of Pole to cement a peace between the two countries, had 
broken out between Spain and France, and England fc had been 

1 State Papers relating to English affairs existing in tht Archives cf Venice 



A Holy Mission. 303 

gradually drawn into fhe struggle. The Pope hotly espoused the 
cause of France, and openly showed himself the foe of the Empire. 
He accordingly declared that it was impossible for him to be 
represented in a country with which he was at war, and cancelled 
Pole's commission. Mary was almost beside herself at this step ; 
she was now aware of the infidelities of her husband, and of his 
insolent indifference towards her ; she was detested by the nation 
on account of her bigotry ; the only two consolations she possessed 
were her religion and the companionship of the legate who, during 
the absence of Philip, had been appointed her counsellor and 
adviser. And now to her awful dismay the Pope, for whom she had 
sacrificed her subjects' affection, had become her enemy, and the one 
friend she owned in her solitude was to be deprived of his chief 
dignity ! She wrote a letter of remonstrance to the Vatican, alluding 
to the services she had rendered the Holy See, and stating how 
necessary it was in the present condition of England that a legate 
with supreme authority should be on the spot to direct and control 
affairs ; she concluded by imploring Paul to reconsider his decision, 
and to grant her request Her petition was strongly supported by 
the council, who spoke in the highest terms of Pole, and at the same 
time informed the Supreme Pontiff that the legatine authority had 
been immemorially attached to the Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Paul, softened by this pleading from those who had served him so 
well, replied that he would gratify the wishes of the Queen ; but at 
the same time he resolved to wound Pole. His holiness agreed to be 
represented in England by a legate, but transferred the commission 
from its present holder to one Peto, a Greenwich friar. To add 
insult to injury, Paul gave as his reason for this change of appoint- 
ment that Pole, the earnest, the zealous, the most devoted of 
Catholics, was suspected of heresy ! To the grief of the Supreme 
Pontiff, however, the cause he favoured was not successful. Spain 
was everywhere triumphant, and after the battle of St. Quentin, Paul 
thought it more prudent to sever his alliance with France and come 
to terms with Philip. Once more, therefore, there was peace between 
England and the Vatican ; still, the late unhappy legate was to derive 
no benefit from the advantages that accrued from the pacification. 
The Pope refused to reinstate him in the office of legate, though 
the Greenwich friar was dead, having passed away shortly after the 
appointment had been conferred on him. In vain Pole pleaded with 
his enemy. He alluded to the services he had given the Church — 
services such as no other legate had rendered for centuries ; to the 
zeal which he had displayed in England ; to the devotion to Rome, 



304 The Gentkmafis Magazine. 

which had been the chief feature in his career \ and then in his old 
age, after such a faithful past, to be degraded on account of heresy ! 
It was hard, it was cruel. "Your holiness," he moaned, "is taking my 
life from me when you take from me the reputation of orthodoxy." 

He spoke truly. Mortification, anxiety, and a humiliation that 
he knew was not deserved, were eating into his very heart and rapidly 
shortening his days. He had never been strong, and his sickly frame, 
weakened by recent ague and fever, was robbed of the vitality neces- 
sary to make a stand against the depression caused by severe dis- 
appointment and grievous injustice. He died within a few hours of 
the demise of his cousin and queen. Feeble and limited as was his 
view of the change of feeling consequent upon the accession of 
Elizabeth, he saw enough to prove to him that his " holy mission n 
had been a failure, and that a religion founded by force and built up 
by persecution is a vain and unstable thing, only requiring the 
terrorism that establishes it to be withdrawn to fall in swift ruin to the 
ground. 

ALEX. CHARLES EWALD. 



3oS 



DR. JOHNSON AND THE FLEET- 
STREET TAVERNS. 

THE traces of Dr. Johnson in this metropolis are fast passing 
away. They were always interesting, owing to the feeling that 
they help us to realise many of the scenes depicted in Johnson's ^ 
great work. Yet these are disappearing, and must disappear with " 
the work of demolition and " opening up," though this last process 
amounts often to shutting up agreeable associations and pleasant 
memorials.* The work, however, is not to be averted; it is as impera- 
tive as Fate; and if Shakespeare's house stood in the line of a new 
street, the Board of Works would take order that it came down. 

Fleet Street is specially sacred to the memory of the Doctor. 
But Fleet Street is also the favourite scene of action for the spoiler. 
Temple Bar, on which Goldsmith jested with him, came down not long 
ago. His chambers in the Inner Temple Lane just by the entrance 
were levelled some years ago. They must have been like the over- 
hanging houses at the entrance of Middle Temple Lane, one of 
the most curious bits of old work in London — substantial too, and in 
good order for their age. We recollect the doorway of his room 
being set up for auction by Messrs. Puttick or Messrs. Sotheby. One 
Dr. Richardson, who has written some curious recollections, declares 
that those who inhabited those rooms took a special pride in the former 
occupancy. 

Fleet Street, interesting in so many ways, is remarkable for many 

curious little courts and passages into which you make entry under 

small archways. These are "Johnson's Court," "Bolt Court," 

" Racquet Court," and the like. Indeed, it is evident that the 

curious little passage which leads in to the "Cock " must have been 

originally an entrance to one of these courts on which the tavern 

gradually encroached. Much the same are found in the Borough, 

only these lead into great courts and inn yards. But in Fleet Street 

they are specially interesting, for we can fancy the Doctor tramping 

up to his favourite tavern. 

Passing into the dark alley known as " Wine Office Court," we 
vol. ccl. no, 1803. X 



- L£ _-r 







r-ir.-r -:■: v-__"__ ;_: i tt : :- zzttz ri>ii zzji'.^s :c"±e nose kiri inins: 

. . :^z:— -_:.-i f:^:^:"= ::" - _ii -i:; 31*. L-icrc He is hold- 
: . - .r ::-"ii.=":-v :." :-E:i :: iz: i-~e::_L2: .Tits:, either in a 

__? ._i :rj" — l: !m: .rirs . :~i :_ 5^rzr— y :r Friday there is a 

:.--.;-:ii : *::: ;:: ---_■ >=J--:h :>.r ^:I: w;rli rc-nd without 
::>.-.: ±.iz r-j::i"i.-: i;_;^:y. Th=si ^r^: Nivcury meat pies 
. . : * r :.± "L~i zrinr :■: r^ir.y Tirs;::?. Vc:r.z nther strong for 



:. :*.:-. \ :.,r .: ---I? :hi: I r f ;>_-*::: used :o repair. True, 
r.i.:>;r r .> - -. . r:: H:-l.i>. r.:r .ifrer :*:in: Mr. Croker. take note 
: th* ::::--•;- r :r : :--: :h;r5 ^cr- r.: 2zy :hiz,;> that escaped Mr 
C::"v;-. ."...;.■: ::? h: - ^?. 7h=r= if. >:~ever, excellent evidence 
c: :.-.; :-:* A ~:::"-y r:"..o.:;r r..:r.:e.i ]zy — who is garrulous but 
r. :: v.~ir.: -.:::.:.:-..'.":.; :r. .: ;:■:< c: zr.c:d ::-.:> which he has written — 
:r; *.:cr.:;c "die - Chish.re Chet?:- " :";: nfiy-rive years, during which 
. :?z «■.■£... .::„■. -;■ >j.y*. •• i -„■.-. e : i~~ :~:ere>:eu :n seeing young men 
v »i" I -~s: "■£"■- ihi-re. *>.,? .1.:': irw.ru 5 r.:.*rr!ed : then in seeing their 
> : ~. > vi r. .r. c : .-. i : c . .:::u c •: er. : : i :r « r.:r. ;.^t. ?. and much gratified by 
:'. ->;ri-:r.- :h.:: m:?: of them succeeded well in life. This applies 
y;.r.[:v". -*.v :o :he :.:wycr?. w::h whc:r. I Live so often dined when 
:.:.::-:>. •■■ hi:: "rv.rr >:;.r-. .:r.d s::::e nho were afterwards judges. 

"■ P -::::.: :he : : r.:e I h.v.-e :Vc :;:i.-n:iv: this house, there have been 
cr.'.y three landlords— Mr. Carhon. Mr. Dobmore, and Mr. Beaufoy 



Dr. Johnson and the Fleet-Street Taverns. 307 

Moore, the present landlord; and during each successive occupa- 
tion the business has increased. I may here mention that, when I 
first visited the house, I used to meet several very old gentlemen who 
remembered Dr. Johnson nightly at the 'Cheshire Cheese'; and 
they have told me, what is not generally known, that the Doctor, 
whilst living in the Temple, always went to the ' Mitre ' or the 
' Essex Head ' ; but when he removed to ' Gough Square ' and 
'Bolt Court/ he was a constant visitor at the 'Cheshire Cheese,' 
because nothing but a hurricane would have induced him to cross 
Fleet Street. All round this neighbourhood, if you want to rent a 
room or an office, you are sure to be told that it was once the 
residence of either Dr. Johnson or Oliver Goldsmith 1 Be that as 
it may, it is an interesting locality, and a pleasing sign — the ' Old 
Cheshire Cheese Tavern/ Wine-office Court, Fleet Street — which 
will afford the present generation, it is hoped, for some time to 
come, an opportunity of witnessing the kind of tavern in which 
our forefathers delighted to assemble for refreshment." 

Doctor Johnson died in J788 — and this solicitor's acquaint- /7&4 . 
ance with the place began scarcely twenty years after the Doctor's 
death. The old frequenter's memory would therefore have been 
very fresh. His dedication, too, is pleasant. This worthy reminiscent 
dedicates his labours, in a quaint inscription, " To the Lawyers 
and Gentlemen with whom I have dined for more than half a 
century at the ' Old Cheshire Cheese Tavern/ Wine Office Court, 
Fleet Street ; this work is respectfully dedicated by their obedient 
servant, Cyrus Jay." 

The reader will note the pleasant distinction between lawyers 
and gentlemen. " I often dined at the ' Mitre ' and the ' Cheshire 
Cheese;' Johnson and his friends, I was. informed, used to do the 
same, and I was told I should meet individuals who had met them 
there ; this I found to be correct. The company then was more 
select than in later times. Johnson had been dead above twenty 
years, but there were Fleet Street tradesmen who well remembered 
both Johnson and Goldsmith in those places. There was Tyers, a 
silk merchant of Ludgate Hill, with Colonel Lawrence, who carried 
the colours of the twentieth regiment at the battle of Minden, ever 
fond of repeating that his regimental comrades bore the brunt of that 
celebrated day. The evening was the time we thus met, when the 
day's business was over. Few then, comparatively, lived at a distance 
from their offices or shops ; if they did, it was mostly in country 
residences, some way beyond the suburbs of town, to which they 
repaired on the Saturday, returning on the Monday morning. There 

X2 



308 The Genttemaris Mdgt&in& 

was also a sprinkling of lawyers, old demi-soldes, and men of science. 
Among the latter, was a Mr. Adams, an optician of Fleet Street, from 
whom I obtained information about barometers, for I had been 
an early experimentalist. The left-hand room on entering the 
* Cheshire/ and the table on the right on entering that room, 
having the window at the end, was the table occupied by Johnson 
and his friends almost uniformly. This table and the room are now 
as they were when I first saw them, having had the curiosity to visit 
them recently. They were, and are, too, as Johnson and his friends 
left them in their time. Johnson's seat was always in the window, 
and Goldsmith sat on his left hand." 

On the other side of Fleet Street we can see the " Mitre Tavern," 
closing up the end of a court — but not the old original " Mitre " 
where Johnson sat with Boswell. It was pulled down within living 
memory, and with it the corner in which the sage used to sit, and which 
was religiously marked by his bust. Yet even as it stands in its 
restoration there is something quaint in the feeling, as you enter 
through a low covered passage from Fleet Street, and see its cheerful 
open door at the end. There are other taverns with such approaches 
in the street. The " Old Bell " is curiously retired. The passage to 
the " Mitre " is as it was in Johnson's day, and his eyes must have 
been often raised to the old beams that support its roof. Even in 
its modern shape it retains much that is old-fashioned and rococo. 
It is like a country tavern in London, with its " ordinary " at noon — 
and a good one too — and its retirement so close and yet so far from 
the hum and clatter of Fleet Street. 

We have yet another tavern to which we can track him, and which 
still " stands where it did." We pass from the open Place where St. 
Clement-Danes stands— one of the most Dutch-like spots in London, 
to which idea the quaint and rather elegant tower lends itself. To 
hear its chimes, not at midnight, but on some December evening, 
when the steeple is projected on a cold blue background, while you 
can see the shadows of the ringers in the bell-tower, is a picturesque 
feeling. They fling out their janglings more wildly than any peal in 
London ; they are nearer the ground, and the hurly burly is melodious 
enough. Those tones the Doctor often heard in Gough Square and 
Bolt Court, and inside he had his favourite seat, to this day reve- 
rently marked by a plate and inscription. Yet St. Clement's is in a 
precarious condition, and when the Law Courts are completed its 
fate will be decided. 

It is, perhaps, Gough Square, to which one of the little passages 
out of Fleet Street leads, that most faithfully preserves the memory 



Dr. yohnson atid t/ie Fleet-Street Taverns, 309 

of Johnson. It is rather a court than a square ; so small is it that 
carriages could never have entered, and it is surrounded with good old 
brick houses that in their day were of some pretensions. A worthy 
society has fixed a tablet in the wall, recording that " Here lived 
Samuel Johnson." The houses are of the good sound old brick ; 
some have carved porticoes, and one is set off by two rather elegant 
Corinthian pilasters. There is a pleasant flavour of grave old 
fashion and retirement about the place, and little has, as yet, been 
touched or pulled down. Johnson's house faces us, and is about the 
most conspicuous. He had, of course, merely rooms, as it is a 
rather large mansion, a little shaken and awry, queerly shaped about 
the upper story, but snug and compact It is now " a commercial 
family boarding-house," and the hall is " cozy " to a degree, with its 
panelled dado running round and up the twisted stairs in short easy 
lengths of four or five steps, with a landing — which would suit the 
Doctor's chest. The whole is in harmony. We can see him labouring 
up the creaking stairs. A few peaceful trades are in occupation of the 
place — printers, and the like. It is an old-world spot, and has an 
old-world air. It suggests a snug country inn. 

But, turning to Essex Street, and not many doors down on the 
left, at the corner of a little cross-passage, leading to the pretty Temple 
gate, with its light iron work, we come on the Essex Head Tavern, 
an old, mean public-house of well-grimed brick. It was here, in his 
decay, that Johnson set up a kind of superior club, the " Ivy Lane." . 
Bosweli is angry with Hawkins for calling it " an alehouse," as if in 
contempt ; but certainly, while the " Cheshire Cheese," the " Mitre," 
and the " Cock " are taverns, this seems to have been more within 
the category of an ale- or public-house. It has been so rearranged 
and altered to suit the intentions and purposes of the modern 
" public," that there is no tracing its former shape. In the passage 
there is a little room known as the "parlour," underneath which 
accommodation has been found for a cobbler's stall. They should 
surely have Johnson's " rules " hung up. Probably they never heard of 
his name, viewing it much as did an officer of the Morning Advertiser 
when notice of a birth was sent from an eminent novelist's family — 
it was then customary to insert such without charge in the case of 
eminent litterateurs — " Oo is he ? " was the reply ; " what 'ouse does 
he keep?" 

We could wish Johnson had been a frequenter of the " Cock," 
the most perfect subsisting specimen of the old taverns. Temple 
Bar passed away to utter indifference, and even some derision ; the 
old monument was abused, jeered at. Why did \% cumber the 



3 io T*i€ Gentleman s Magazine. 

gro-r.i? Ye: :: ^5 ccruir.Lv zz. nrrscccn Thai rambling under 
the c'i e-.tt-s-iT. as v:- enrerei Flee: Sree:, had a certain 
piquancy. Though ir wis giving wzy, :: was b-t an idle pretest 
to say :hat nothing c:uli b-e cone :d repair or restore it. As 
you passed b^'.o^r. you came within the precincts — you entered 
the city. There was the Temple tD the right, the old gilt "Cock," 
not without a certain air ef stru: and sririL over the little stunted 
doorwav of the tavern on the le:":. Now all is osen and clear — the 
city has no beginning. 

You go through a little squeezed and panelled passage to 
enter, and at the end of the passage ycu pass the little window of 
the " snugger}-. "* or bar, of a most inviting sort on a winter's night, 
with something simmering on the hob. There sits one whom we 
might call " Miss Abbey " — like Dickens's directress of the ** Fel- 
lowship Porters " — to whom come the waiters, to receive the good 
hunches of bread, "new or stale," — which she, according to old 
unvarying rule, chalks down, or up. on the mahogany sill of the door. 
All is duly sawdusted. The ceiling of the long low tavern room 
is on our heads. The windows are small, like skylights, and give 
upon the hilly passage or lane outside. There are "boxes" or 
pews all round, with green curtains, of mahogany black as ebony. 
Both the coveted places — say about a sharp Christmas time — are the 
two that face the good fire, on which sings a huge kettle. The 
curious old chimney-piece over it is of carved oak, with strange 
grinning faces, one of which used to delight Dickens, who invited 
people's attention to it particularly. There is a quaintness, too, in 
the china trays for the pewter mugs, each decorated with an 
effigy of a cock. On application, those in office produce to you a 
well-thumbed copy of Defoe's " History of the Plague," where the 
allusion is made to the establishment, and also a little circular box, 
in which is carefully preserved one of the copper tokens of the house 
— a little lean, battered piece, with the device of a cock, and the 
inscriptions " The Cock Alehouse " and " C. H. M. ATT. 
TEMPLE BARR. 1655." The "Cock," says a pleasant writer, 
has "a right thriving aspect, particularly about the hollow and hungry 
hour of noon, when William, the head waiter, becomes corporeally 
manifest, controlling with a certain sententious urbanity the increasing 
demands upon his attentions and those of his subordinate ministers. 
* O plump head waiter of the Cock ! 'apostrophises the ' Will Water- 
proof of the bard who wears the laurel, in a reverie wherein he 
conceives the chief attendant of this venerable tavern to have 
undergone a transition similar to that of Jove's cupbearer : — 



Dr. yohnson and the Fleet-Street Taverns. 311 

1 And hence,' says he, ' this halo lives about 
The waiter's hands that reach 
To each his perfect pint of stout, 
His proper chop to each. 
He looks not like the common breed 
That with the napkin dally ; 
I think he came, like Ganymede, 
From some delightful valley.' 

And of the redoubtable bird who is supposed to have performed the 
eagle's part in this abduction he says : — 

• The cock was of a larger egg 
Than modern poultry drop, 
Stept forward on a firmer leg, 
And cramm'd a plumper crop. ' 

The effigies of this tutelary bird, No. 33, which struts with becoming 
gallantry over the tavern door, are said to have been carved by no 
less a hand than that of the celebrated Grinling Gibbons. The 
Great Fire of London was stayed at Temple Bar, and the ' Cock ' 
tavern looked upon and survived it; and that it was of some standing 
at that period is proved by the carved fireplace, which appears to 
date at least from the time of James I. The Intelligencer ', No. 45, 
contains the following advertisement : * This is to notify that the 
master of the Cock and Bottle, commonly called the Cock Ale- 
house, at Temple Bar, hath dismissed his servants and shut up his 
house, for this long vacation, intending (God willing) to return at 
Michaelmas next, so that all persons whatsoever, who have any 
Accompts with the said master, or Farthings belonging to the said 
house, are desired to repair thither before the 8th of this instant July, 
and they shall receive satisfaction. ' " 

It is a pity to see that there is not the conservative continuity in 
the line of waiters, which should be found in such a place. They 
seem to come and go — go rather than come. They used to be all 
"in key," as it were — had grown stout and old in the service. 
Latterly time, in its whirligig changes, has brought round changes 
almost revolutionary, and we find strange, unsuitable beings in office. 
One was a dry, wiry man of despotic character, who administered on 
new modern principles, unsuited to the easy-going manners of the 
place. He dealt with the customers in a prompt, almost harsh style. 
He knew and recognised no distinction between old frequenters and 
new. I fancy he was not popular. I believe his place was in the new 
" restaurants n ; but here, among the u boxes n and pews, and on the 
sanded floor, he was an anachronism. So with the old habitues he 
was a perfect fly in the ointment When he found himself unpopular, 



312 The Gmtletnaris Magazine. 

he adopted a strange device to recommend himself— the compound- 
ing a curious sauce, which he called " Pick-ant," and which he 
invited guests to try. It did not much avail him, and death has 
since removed him to pay his own score. 

The good old " brown stout " is to be had in perfection at the 
"Cock," and port good in its kind. Thus says Punch on one 
occasion : — 

Lines written at the " Cock," Fleet Street. 

{Dedicated to the Laureate and Lovelace.) 

Champagne will not a dinner make, 

Nor Caviare a meal : 
Men, gluttonous and rich, may take 

Those till they make them ill. 
If I've potatoes to my chop, 

And after chop have cheese, 
Angels in Pond and Spiers's shop 

Know no such luxuries ! 

To stray into this cheerful hostelry of a winter's evening, finding 
snug shelter, recalls one of those scenes in old inn parlours which 
Dickens was so fond of describing. Here are cozy red curtains ; the 
world shut out ; warmth and light Even the creations of the great 
writer — or those that he fancied — are found here ; the Temple clerk, 
the retired solicitor — dry, quiet men of the Perker class, that have 
come across from their lonely chambers — and sit solitary, content 
with themselves, while they mix comforting brew of " hot Scotch " 
or " Irish." These beings are interesting of their kind, and at times 
there will hardly be a sound in the place, so placid is the old-world 
temper of th e Tavern. 

An old frequenter of the "Cock" remembers the tankards hung 
round in shining rows, each the special vessel of a customer. 

The " all-knowing " Timbs — now, with Peter Cunningham, passed 
into the domain of the antiquities they both explored so well — was a 
frequenter of the place, and muses over it, quoting : — 

Ah, but let the rusty theme alone, 

We know not what we know ; 
But for my pliant hour, 'tis gone ; 

'Tis gone, and let it go. 

" The Apollo Club, at the Devil Tavern, is kept in remembrance 
by Apollo Court, in Fleet Street, nearly opposite ; next door eastward 
of which is an old tavern nearly as well known. It is, perhaps, the 
most primitive place of its kind in the Metropolis : it still possesses a 
fragment of decoration of the time of James I., and the writer remem- 
bers the tavern half a century ago, with considerably mor$ of its 



Dr. Johnson and the Fleet-Street Taverns. 3 1 3 

original panelling. Three years later we find Pepys frequenting this 
tavern : ' 23rd April, 1668. Thence by water to the Temple, and 
there to the Cock Alehouse, and drank, and eat a lobster, and sang, 
and mightily merry. To almost night, I carried Mr. Pierce home, 
and then Knipp and I to the Temple again, and took boat, it being 
now night.' " 

In the " Country Wife," so lately played in such inimitable style 
by Miss Litton's troupe, we find Sparkish saying : — 

" Come, but where do we dine ? " 

Homer : " Ev'n where you will." 

Sparkish : " At Chateline's ? " 

Dorilant : " Yes, if you will." 

Sparkish : « Or at t/ie ' Cock ' ? " 

Dorilant : " Yes, if you please." 

Sparkish : " Or at the ' Dog and Partridge ' ? " 

Homer : " Ay, if you have a mind to % for we shall dine at 
neither." 

It is noted, too, in favour of this worthy old tavern, that its 
frequenters have been glad to record their sympathy in a sort of 
affectionate style. Thus the late Mr. Bellew, the elocutionist, was 
glad to introduce this allusion to a favourite haunt in his novel 
" Blount Tempest " : « In the furthest penfold of the * Cock/ at 
Temple Bar, sat Geoffrey Tempest The office hours of Probyn, 
Shirley, and Trigg were over, and Geoffrey had enjoyed his steak, one 
of the unapproachable rump-steaks of the i Cock. 9 He sat muttering 
Tennyson's lines — 

Thou fattenest by the greasy gleam 

In haunts of hungry sinners ; 
Old Boxes, larded with the steam 

Of thirty thousand dinners." ! 

Mr. Mark Lemon, who had to pass the tavern every day on his 
road to the " Punch " office lower down, lays a scene in one of his 
novels at the little tavern. 

" The ' Cock, ' in Fleet Street, has been sung by Tennyson, and 
henceforth stands on classic ground. The student in Lempriere 
knows that the cock of old was dedicated to Esculapius, but the 
golden bird in Fleet Street more properly belongs to Themis, for on 
its mahogany shrines, flocks of sheep in the shape of chops and 
kidneys, herds of bullocks cut up into large and small steaks, and 
tons of cheese converted into Welsh rarebits, have been offered up 

1 Blount Twpfst, by the Rev. J. C. M. Bellew, vol. ii. chap. iv. p. 90. 



314 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

time out of mind to that legal deity, whilst libations of stout and 
other alcoholic compounds have been freely poured down the gullets 
of his priests and acolytes ; as the Temple is on the opposite side of 
the street, and law, like love, requires to live on something more 
than the flowers of rhetoric. A long narrow passage brings you at 
once to a low-roofed dining-room, divided on each side into boxes 
supplied with the narrowest of seats and tables, the latter covered not 
at all times (we write of times past) with the cleanest of table-cloths ; 
and a superstition prevailed formerly — mind, formerly — that by 
removing the crumb-strewn damask and shaking it, the * coming ' 
had lost all traces of * the parting guest ! ' The spacious fire-grate, 
amply filled in winter time, gave a cheerful welcome, and on hot 
summer days, from its capacity for ventilation, combined with the 
pervading gloom of the place, made the heat more endurable. A 
young Templar had given his orders — as the phrase runs — and was 
preparing to while away the time necessary to execute them, by a 
perusal of Crabbe's ' Digest/ when his studious intention was inter- 
rupted by the entrance into the same box of a quasi-military person, 
who with a smile and a bow took his seat composedly. 

" * Waiter ! ' 

" ' Coming, sir,' replied that functionary, making his way through 
a door at the upper end of the room, and bawling at the pitch of his 
voice, i Two lamb chops to follow mashed potatoes pint steak very 
well done.' 

" ' Extraordinary class of persons are waiters, ' said Eimsley, 
' never can speak the truth, even in their reckoning. Why could not 
that fellow have said, "Yes, sir — or coming directly, sir," without 
adding mendacity to neglect ? ' 

" ' Coming/ I presume; is according to waiter-craft, and has sup- 
planted the " Anon, anon, Sir/' of the old drawer/ replied Elliott. 

" < Waiter ! ' 

" ' Coming, sir/ 

" * When, sir, when ? ' exclaimed Eimsley, rather testily. 

" * Beg pardon, Captain ! ' said the waiter, flicking off a few 
crumbs with his soiled napkin, * What '11 you have, sir ? — chops and 
steaks, sir — potatoes — no peas, all gone, sir.' 

" ' That's provoking/ said the captain. * I had fully calculated 
upon peas — well, say a small steak — no potatoes, and half a pint of 
stout' 

" ' Yes, sir/ and bawling ' coming/ in reply to another summons, 
the waiter disappeared as before. 

" ' I find it advisable to live sparingly this hot weather, 9 observed 



Dr. Johnson and the Fleet-Street Taverns. 315 

Elmsley, ' and therefore wander into this locality, as they understand 
the art of small cookery better here than at the West-end.' 

" ' Has it been demonstrated ever/ said the captain, giving a 
hasty glance at Elliott's well- cooked chop, ' why waiters generally are 
flat-footed, and wear linen that appears to have been rinsed in pot 
liquor ? ' 

" ' I never observed those peculiarities/ replied Elliott. 

" * Do, and you will find my observations are correct/ said the 
captain. ' They also appear to clean the cuffs and lappets of their 
coats with black lead, which is not always pleasant to look upon. 
Why they will not imitate the French gar£on, with his neat jacket 
and clean white apron, is a mystery to me. A very small steak this, 
Edward, very, and no fat. Find me a piece of fat, and — yes — you 
must bring me potatoes.' 

" ' Yes, sir/ replied the man to whom these latter observations 
were addressed. ' Point steaks are small, sir — Coming ! and potatoes 
directly, sir ! ' 

" * I presume you are fond of a play ? ' said Elmsley, when the 
waiter, having cleared the cloth, furnished the captain with a tooth- 
pick, and Elliott with a glass of Hollands, for which the ' Cock ' 
enjoyed a celebrity. 

" Having discharged their reckoning (which, to the honour of 
Edward, the waiter, was scrupulously correct, so far as Elmsley was 
concerned, however seventeen pence might have been transmitted 
into one shilling and sevenpence in the computation of Elliott's 
account of sundries), the Captain and the Templar — the Sword and 
the Gown — proceeded on their way to Drury Lane." l 

Another town antiquary and agreeable writer — Thornbury — has 
also described it He, too — a good industrious plodder, full of en- 
thusiasm, and with a pleasant, lively style of writing which Dryas- 
dusts seldom have — has ceased his labours. 

41 Through a narrow portal, a few doors north-east of Temple Bar, 
over which a gilt bird proudly struts, have entered many generations 
of hungry Englishmen. There is no habitu^ of the ' Cock ' Tavern 
in Fleet Street who has not at some period or another of his 
prandial existence been informed of the extreme antiquity of that 
ancient dining place. As you nibbled up the last green leaf of your 
salad, or drained with a lingering plaintiveness the last drop in your 
tankard, the head-waiter, after gently correcting the fire, or adjusting 
the burnished kettle, was in the habit of mitigating the painfulness 
of Rabelais' * mauvais quart d'heure ' by gravely producing a round 

J Wait for the End % by Mark Lemon, vol. ii. ch, vii. pp. 144-151. 



316 The Gentletnatis Magazine. 

snuff-box, containing a farthing-token of the house at the time of 
the Plague, and with it a greasy volume of Pepys, thumbed black 
by Templars and inky-handed lawyers' clerks, alluding to an 
advertisement of the period, watching you with benignant conde- 
scension as you read words that, though two hundred years old, seem 
just written. 

" In due time, however, the scourge abated, and the landlord of 
the ' Cock ' returned, re-lit his fires in his rusty 'grates, scoured 
bright his gridirons, and that old carved Jacobean mantelpiece, still 
over the Fleet Street fireplace, shone cheerily again in the dancing 
flame. 

" Tennyson's verses on Will Waterproof, a plump head-waiter at 
the 'Cock/ long since dead, have made the Fleet Street hostelry 
known to thousands who have never trod its sawdust-strewn floor. 
In early days, when the then unknown poet dwelt in lofty chambers 
up behind the balustraded parapet of No. 57 Lincoln's-inn- Fields 
(west side), he used to resort to the ' Cock ' for his quiet five-o'clock 
dinner, and, after a pint of the special port, he probably wrote those 
verses on Will. The humour in some of them, it must be allowed, 
is forced, but how graceful and thoughtful are the choicest lines, 
such as — 

But whither would my fancy go ? 

How out of place he makes 
The violet of a legend blow 

Among the chops and steaks." 
• • • • • 

An American visitor took care some years ago to pay the place a 
visit, and was fortunate enough to see the poet engaged in discussing 
the favourite delicacies of the place : — 

" I had the good fortune the other day to come upon Tennyson 
taking his chop and kidney at that house, some three doors above 
the old Temple Bar, which he has made famous, the ' Cock.' I 
had the curiosity to look for the ' half a pint of port ' in the poem, 
but I saw at the bard's elbow no wine, fruity or crusted, but a plain 
pewter of stout, which the author of ' Locksley Hall ' discussed like 
any northern farmer of them all. He is aged and worn, and bent in 
the back, with hollow chest ; but I think these are rather the effects 
of a brooding habit of mind and body than the marks of physical 
debility, for he looked tough and muscular. Tennyson is not a 
beauty. There was the head- waiter at the * Cock,' and it was fine 
to see him waiting on the Laureate. The man is tremendously 
conscious of his distinction, and keeps watching guests out of th$ 
cprner of his eye, to see if they are admiring him. His manner to 



Dr. yohnsoil and the Fleet-Street Tavtrtii. 3 1 7 

Mr. Tennyson was delightful, at once respectful and friendly— just as 
if he felt himself a partner in the work which has given the ' Cock ' 
a sort of literary reputation." 

Such is a brief stock-taking of the existing haunts of Dr. Johnson, 
the best authority on tavern life, and its highest encomiast. Says 
the excellent Boswell in his journal : " We dined at an excellent 
inn, where he expatiated on the felicity of England in its taverns 
and inns, and triumphed over the French for not having, in any 
perfection, the tavern life. ' There is no private house/ said he, * in 
which people can enjoy themselves so well as at a capital tavern. 
Let there be ever so great plenty of good things, ever so much 
grandeur, ever so much elegance, ever so much desire that everybody 
should be easy ; in the nature of things it cannot be : there must 
always be some degree of care and anxiety. The master of the 
house is anxious to entertain his guests ; the guests are anxious to be 
agreeable to him ; and no man but a very impudent dog indeed 
can as freely command what is in another man's house as if it was 
his own. Whereas, at a tavern, there is a general freedom from 
anxiety. You are sure you are welcome : and the more noise you 
make, the more trouble you give, the more good things you call for, 
the welcomer you are. No servants will attend you with the alacrity 
which waiters do who are incited by the prospect of an immediate 
reward in proportion as they please. No, sir ; there is nothing which 
has yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is 
produced as by a good tavern or inn.' He then repeated, with great 
emotion, Shenstone's lines : — 

1 Whoe'er has travcll'd life's dull round, 
Where'er his stages may have been, 
May sigh to think he still has found 
The warmest welcome at an inn.' " 

PERCY FITZGERALD. 



318 The Gentleman's Magazine. 



THE WILD FOWL OF CANADA. 

THERE is always something fascinating about the history and 
habits of wild fowl. Some, like the heron and bittern, lead 
solitary lives among the reeds of lonely marshes, avoiding, except . in 
spring, even their own species, and when disturbed take long flights, 
till they are lost in the sky, as if in indignant protest against the 
intrusion. Others, again, like the duck species, rejoice in society, 
and are eminently hospitable. On more than one occasion has the 
writer, when the shades of evening began to fall on the surface of some 
large pond in the provinces of Ontario or Quebec, felt so much 
interest in their gambols that the "Westley Richards" was laid aside for 
a little, that he might enjoy the scene through the network of reeds that 
hid the canoe. The pond would be an opening on a fen of perhaps 
twenty or thirty or even two hundred acres, which had to be reached 
often through thick jungles of reeds growing out of the marsh. Many 
such ponds there are on the vast swamps that line the St Lawrence, 
and there are still more on the Mississippi ; while the slender wild 
rice, which is Guildhall fare to ducks, invariably grows in patches 
over the pool. But ducks are not very hard to approach if only the 
observer will keep away from observation, as an anecdote will shortly 
illustrate. They hear their fellows calling with loud cackles, as they 
fly with great velocity through the air ; and though they sometimes 
answer and pass on, they more generally join them. It is regarded 
as a signal that there is good fare, and the fowl is safe from an 
intruder. When a duck alights in the water, he places his webbed feet 
out to stop himself, and spreads his hard, stiff tail-feathers out like a Ian; 
but even then he will go rapidly for a considerable distance along the 
surface before succeeding in arresting his progress. When a few alight 
together, the sudden ploughing-up of the water breaks the stillness of 
the scene very singularly. It is a mistake to suppose, as has often been 
said, that ducks only decoy to fellows of their own particular species. 
There are about sixteen different kinds that are most frequently 
found in Canada, and nothing is commoner than to see a flock 
composed of half a dozen kinds. When the visitors arrive there 
is a great demonstration of joy, and much diving and flapping 



The Wild Fowl of Canada. 3T9 

of wings ; but it is curious to note that there are generally some which 
hold aloof from it, and lie motionless on the water, with their beaks 
almost touching their breasts. It is not improbable that there is some 
difference in the dispositions of ducks ; at any rate, there certainly seems 
to be in tame ducks. Some of these are noted, soon after they are 
hatched, as good decoy or " call ducks," as they are designated by 
French Canadians in the lower provinces, and are much valued. They 
are employed to call down the wild ducks within range, or else to 
alight on a pool where the gunner waits till a large number have collected. 
Other ducks seem to take less interest in a passing flock, and do not 
even utter a cry as they fly overhead. There is a fine decoy pond in 
Lancashire, near Hale-on-the-Mersey, where great numbers of birds 
have been taken in a single season. The gamekeeper, to whose 
especial charge this pond had been entrusted, assured me that the 
decoy ducks were so well instructed in their duties that they never 
entered the long treacherous alleys that looked so tempting to any 
one of the duck tribe, and were supplied so liberally with floating 
corn, but which ended in the fatal net Yet they seemed to make it 
their business to scour the country round for victims. All sorts of 
ducks will decoy to their own kind, but I do not remember seeing 
geese come down to a flock of ducks. Perhaps it is that they 
fly so high they can see from a distance the danger lurking in the 
reeds, and pass on to safer grounds. But it is not that they stand on 
their dignity, certainly, for we often see a flock of ducks and geese 
rise at the same time from a pool that is disturbed. A beautiful 
village, Christleton, skirts a lake or pond not very far from Chester, 
and the few villagers that live on one side of it keep flocks of ducks 
and geese, which live at a reedy end of the mere. 

Swans not unfrequently pass over at the latter end of the summer 
and the autumn as they leave the Dee, and settle on some private 
lake for a time. They are, of course, rightly considered private pro- 
perty, though they may not be marked with "hall marks." Still, some 
wild proclivities have entered their condition, or perhaps were 
never quite absent from it, as may be noticed by their straight, long, 
rapid flight from feeding grounds that are not exhausted to others 
that afford no better fare. There are dainty weeds and mollusca in 
the lakes of Eaton, or Combermere, or Cholmondeley, and also on the 
Dee. One feeding ground is hardly superior to another, and the 
only cause one can reasonably assign for the migration of the swans, 
and, indeed (where they keep them), the wild ducks, is that, in 
the memorable words of Worcester, it is an old habit they cannot 
break off : — 



320 The Gentlematis Magazine* 

The fox 
i . . ne'er so tame, so cherished, and locked up* 
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 

This brings us to another recollection of the marvellous instincts 
of wild fowl, that know so well their appointed time, and can presage 
not only a coming winter, but the nature of the winter it will surely 
be. Severe weather not only sends them farther south, but warns 
them in good time to go. 

But the Canadian wild fowl have an interest even beyond that 
which pertains to the sportsman or bon-vivant. Arctic travellers 
are all united in one opinion — that birds have told us of regions 
beyond the frozen seas of the north, where from some cause or 
other the climate is milder, and the ocean or soil more generous. 
This has been held by many navigators, and each succeeding explorer 
has confirmed the wonderful story. When Kane in his small brig 
penetrated, under unusually favourable circumstances, to the eightieth 
degree of latitude, he despatched Mr. Merton with the sledges to 
reconnoitre, and that able man found, after many battles with the 
ice, that at the eighty-second degree the icebergs and icefloes over 
which he had been travelling became weaker, the surface rotten, and 
the snow-drifts softer, until the dogs, terror-stricken, refused to 
advance, and with much trouble and danger they made their escape 
to the coast. Mr. Merton then reflected that a great black line he 
had seen was open water far away to the north, and the unwonted 
appearance of wild fowl, which had been strangers along the dreary 
ice packs to the south, convinced him of the accuracy of his belief. 
But the aquatic birds were here in thousands, and they seemed to 
be more numerous in the distant mysterious north. The brent goose, 
the eider, and the king duck were so closely packed together that an 
Esquimaux who accompanied the little expedition killed two with a 
single-rifle ball. Here we find a curious clue that the birds have given 
us to the great mystery of the North Pole. From where this was 
seen to the North Pole is about 480 nautical miles, and it may be 
that milder climates, shut out by mountains of ice-ranges, hide what 
would fill us with wonder. Brent geese, which seem to have pre- 
vailed in vast throngs, and may always be known by their wedge- 
shaped flights, live on marine plants and mollusca. They are not 
often seen inland unless flying from one estuary to another, and their 
presence in these high latitudes is a sure indication of an open sea 
with feeding grounds, quite unknown farther south, on the dreary 
ice-regions that have so long baffled explorers. All travellers agree 
in this, and in the admirable work lc The Thresholds of the Un* 



Tlrt Wild Fowl of Canada. 321 

known Region," Captain Markham has quoted the following from 
Professor Newton, of Cambridge, which quite carries out my own 
belief : — 

The shores of the British Islands, and of many other countries in the northern 
hemisphere, are annually, for a longer or shorter period, frequented by countless 
multitudes of birds, which, there is every reason to believe, resort in summer to 
very high latitudes for purposes the most important ; and since they continue the 
practice year after year, they must find the migration conducive to their advantage. 
There must be some water which is not always frozen ; secondly, there must be 
some land on which they may lay their feet ; and, thirdly, there must be plenty of 
food supplied either by the water or by the land, or by both, for their nourish- 
ment. It may be worth while to give a short account and to sketch the move- 
ments of one species of birds— the knot {tringa canutus) of ornithologists. 
The knot is something half-way between a snipe and a plover. Like many other 
birds of the same group, the colour of its plumage varies most wonderfully, 
according to the season of the year. In summer it is of a bright brick red, in 
winter it is of a sober ash grey. Kept in confinement, it seldom assumes its most 
brilliant tints, but some approach to them is generally made. Now, the knot comes 
to this country in spring, and after remaining on our coasts for about a fortnight, 
can be traced proceeding gradually northwards till it takes its departure. People 
who have been in Iceland and Greenland have duly noted its appearance in those 
countries ; but in neither of them is it known to tarry longer than with us ; the 
summer it would have there to endure is not to its liking ; and as we know it 
takes no other direction, it must move farther north. We then lose sight of it for 
some weeks. The older naturalists used to imagine it had been found breeding 
in all manner of countries, but the naturalists of the present day agree in believing 
that we know nothing of its nidification. Towards the end of summer it comes 
to us in still larger flocks than before, and both old birds and young haunt our 
coasts till November. If the season be a very open one, some may stay later; but 
our winter, as a rule, is too much for it, and away it goes southward, and very far 
southward, too, till the following spring. What has been said of the United 
Kingdom is equally true of it on the eastern shores of the United States. There 
it appears in the same abundance, and at the' same seasons as with us, and its 
movements seem to be regulated by the same causes. Hence we may fairly infer 
that lands visited by the knot in the middle of summer are less sterile than Iceland 
or Greenland, or it would hardly pass over those countries which are known to be 
the breeding places for swarms of water birds to resort to regions worse off as 
regards the supply of food. 

An intense interest seems to attach itself to these wandering tra- 
vellers that have come from the far north. To them the Pole with all 
its mysteries, and the vast ocean that surrounds it, are familiar objects* 
They know about the islands it contains, and if they are inhabited, 
and have seen the magnetic phenomena a thousand times. The 
journey through the unknown land, of which our ablest and boldest 
sailors have only seen the threshold, may take us years to accomplish, 
or may baffle us at last, but there is not one of their number that 
could not traverse it in a few hours, and that with ease. We know 
by their flights that they reach untravelled lands and seas where they 

vol. ccl. no. 1803. y 



322 The GentkmarHs Magazine. 

can build their nests, and rear their young, and here all our know- 
ledge ends, and we may say with Prospero's daughter — 

You oft begun to tell me — but stopt, 
And left me to a bootless inquisition. 

When the northern seas have frozen over, and flight after flight 
of birds have travelled southwards, the St Lawrence and its marshes 
afford ducks and plover a haven, and endless food supplies, until. in 
its turn it becomes frozen too, and the welcome visitors remove to 
milder regions ; for during winter the temperature of Canada from 
Quebec to Toronto is only a little less severe than the Arctic regions. 
30 below zero is a common state of the atmosphere every year, and 
in February 1859 it experienced for three days an average temperature 
of 7 2 of frost. But even then there were rapids in the large rivers 
that did not freeze, and these were often alive over the surface with 
wild ducks that did not go southwards. Here, again, a singular 
feature presents itself. It is true that most of these ducks were golden- 
eyes, or whistle-wings, but millions had passed through to the southern 
breeding grounds, where there is room for more than all. They pre- 
ferred evidently to rest where they were; and if we take this circum- 
stance in connection with the singular fellow-feeling they have 
with mankind, as shown by their easy domestication, and their 
tranquil pleasures in the pond or brook near a farm-house, it is not 
unreasonable to suppose that, like human beings, they have to 
a larger extent than other migratory birds their own tastes and 
fancies for a district, and there is hardly any avoiding the conclusion 
that a similar impulse to that which induces one Englishman to go 
for his holiday to the Shetland Islands or Iceland, and another to 
Egypt or Sicily, prevails among the wild ducks. The length of 
flight that migratory birds are capable of is quite amazing. We 
read of birds being found a thousand miles from the nearest shore, 
and those, too, birds that cannot rest on the water. Stanley mentions 
the case of a common titlark 900 miles from land alighting on a 
vessel from Liverpool, and says that an owl has been seen gliding 
over the Atlantic waves in mid-ocean; one is apt, however, to fancy 
that in these cases they must have lit upon a vessel and been carried a 
great portion of the way. But Eastern travellers tell us that the 
vulture seems to live in the sky ; and we know that the tropic 
bird, in the words of Stanley, "might be fairly called the firiry 
of the ocean, seen as it is in the genial latitudes of the 
warmest climates of the globe — now a stationary speck elevated 
as far as the eye can reach, contrasting with the dark blue sky, 



The Wild Fowl of Canada. 323 

like a spangle in the heavens, then suddenly descending like 
a falling star, and as suddenly checking its course to hover for a 
while over the topmost point of a vessel's masts, and then darting 
like a meteor, with its two long projecting tail-feathers streaming in 
the air, downwards on a shoal of flying fish." One of these it ascends 
with, far away into the sky, to enjoy. But the frigate bird is more 
extraordinary, for, according to the same authority, it hardly ever 
visits the land except at the breeding season, and is never seen to 
swim. These, however, are not migratory birds, but it is certain that 
some of the latter take enormous flights without rest Last year I some- 
times saw in the Liverpool market wild swans that had been shot in 
Ireland, especially in the earlier part of the severe winter, and these 
must have come from Iceland ; at least, this is the nearest possible 
place : yet this entails a flight of more than 700 miles. They might, 
of course, have rested in Scotland, but even the whole distance 
would only occupy a few hours. I purchased a young one, which 
measured, when extended on a larder shelf, five feet two inches, and 
was in good condition ; and I may say, by the way, that roasted like 
a wild goose, and served with wild-fowl sauce, it was pronounced 
excellent, though the edibility of swans is a disputed point But the 
chief interest of the bird lay in the beautiful construction of its wing 
feathers. A chemist in Chester found out the average weight of 
eight of the principal ones, which differed very little in size, and 
found that it was 40 grains. So strong was one, that if we grasped 
the quill, and tied a string round the middle of the feather, which 
was 16 inches long, it would easily raise from the ground a dead 
weight of 3^ pounds without straining, though it took twelve of them 
to make a single ounce ; so that four ounces of them would lift an 
average-sized man from the ground ! and if they were laid out upon 
a floor, this four ounces would cover eight superficial feet after 
allowing for all interstices. But there is another element of power 
in these feathers which may be noticed to some extent in a common 
goose quill If we take hold of the larger strands and work them 
backwards and forwards gently, we shall see that, without separating, 
they part a little, and form a rough surface to hold the wind ; and the 
way the strands work helps on the flight in addition. A glassy surface 
would cut the air, and cause enormous and profitless labour. We 
know the difference between swimming through the water and putting 
our feet against the side of a bath for a stroke. The latter will drive 
us fifteen or twenty feet with less loss of power than ordinary 
swimming will take us eight or ten, and this is a fairly apt illustration. 
To say that four ounces of these quills would raise the weight of a 

ya 



324 The Gentleman 9 s Magazine. 

man, even if such a weight were suspended at three or four inches 
from the part where the quill was held, is ridiculously to under- 
state the strength of these feathers when arched together in a 
series. And when we consider that the blow of one of these wings 
has broken the leg of a man who was sent out on the cruel errand of 
swan-hopping, we can understand how such muscles can drive wings 
constructed with such consummate skill to so good a purpose. The 
flight of a goose is heavy and laboured, that of a duck is rapid and 
anxious-looking, but a swan literally bounds through the air; indeed, 
when we see one for the first time, we almost feel giddy at the 
thought of such a bulky body being supported at a hundred yards in 
height by two fans, and careering away at the very least at double 
the rate of a railway express. Any person who never shot one would 
be sure to miss it, even if it were in range of his gun, for the directness 
of its night and the deliberate movements of its pinions would greatly 
deceive him as to its real velocity. There is, I believe, somewhere, an 
exhibition of flying machines, representing all kinds of contrivances, 
many disappointed hopes, and much mechanical ingenuity ; but if 
progress is to be made, and the Pole is ever to be approached by 
such means, the wing of a swan might be profitably studied. 

It is singular that much of the migration of birds takes place 
at night, especially of the fen-birds, which are in the habit of feeding by 
night. Late on in the year we may hear the whistling of the wings 
of ducks of many kinds, and an occasional call-note far overhead 
in the darkness. Secure in their height, they pass over villages and 
towns, and seem to have no care except to let their flight be direct 
towards their destination. The migration of storks is more regular 
than that of ducks, and in the East the Persians and the Arabs found 
their almanacs upon it. The " coming of storks " is a festival that 
announces the departure of winter. These birds, both in America 
and the East, fly at an enormous height ; indeed, they are often in- 
visible, and their locality is only known by the loud, piercing scream 
that belongs equally to those of the new and the old world. 

The woods in Canada present a singularly desolate appearance in 
winter. There are no thrushes and fieldfares as in ours, but they 
are one unbroken white ground covered with snow, which in some 
places is ten feet deep, and often more. The black stems of fir-trees 
rise out of this, and they form a canopy overhead. The only birds 
that are met with are partridges, and these, feeding on the seeds of 
the firs, are often in excellent condition. The way the Canadians 
shoot them is curious, and not quite what an Englishman would ***l\ 
sportsmanlike. A small dog barks at the foot of a tree, where there 



The Wild Fowl of Canada. 325 

are partridges, and these never stir while he is there ; indeed, the 
Canadian shoots the lowest bird, and then picks off its higher 
neighbours. Even the report of a gun has no power to drive them 
away while the dog is barking. I once knew a rector who was with 
his son in a wood, and seeing a covey of partridges in a tree, he told 
him to imitate the barking of a dog, and he thus secured the birds. 

In all tales of migration the marvellous history of Audubon's 
pigeons towers above every other narrative, and it would be passed 
over in silence, but that it has figured again and again in natural 
histories ; and even the genial ornithologist, Bishop Stanley, has 
accepted his figures. Himself a keen observer and a perfect English 
gentleman, he seems in some way to have believed, without con- 
sideration, the amazing figures of the eminent American naturalist. 
Stanley is the delight of our youth and the delight of our age, and 
one feels almost indignant that his trustful nature should have been 
misled so easily. It is stated, on the authority of the great trans- 
atlantic naturalist, in Stanley's second volume, that a flock of pigeons 
he had seen, and as far as possible computed, contained 2,234,272,000 
birds. Now, if we can imagine these flying so closely that the beak 
of one touched the caudal feathers of another, and if we further 
imagine a column of twenty-five feet wide flying as closely as they 
well could, it would reach round the world ! and in a fortnight they 
would consume more grain than the British Isles use in a year. Pro- 
vidence, he adds, has wisely given them great rapidity of flight, 
otherwise they must have devoured the whole productions of agri- 
culture. One seems to think that, unless their flight took them right 
away into another planet, we could not look hopefully to the future. 
But Audubon saw another wonderful sight when the flocks went to 
roost; and such masses swarmed on the trees, that " many of them two 
feet in diameter," he observed, " were broken off at a few feet from 
the ground, and branches of the tallest had given way " ; this, be it 
remarked, with the weight of pigeons ! The inhabitants had as- 
sembled in great numbers to secure the spoil. " There was little 
underwood," where " the uproar continued the whole of the night," 
and men had assembled " with iron pots containing sulphur," and 
with " torches of pine-knots, and poles and guns," and " fires were 
lighted, and a magnificent as well as almost terrifying sight presented 
itself. " And, indeed, Mr. Audubon himself was so amazed with the 
forest falling round him, "as if swept by a tornado," and the wonderful 
and novel sights he saw, that he could hear nothing, and was " only 
aware of the firing by seeing the shooters reload." Still the pigeons 
kept arriving by thousands, alighting everywhere, one above another, 



326 The Gentlemaris Magazine. 

" until solid masses as large as hogsheads were formed on the branches 
all around" Solid masses ! He leaves us to conjecture how the 
sides held together ; and, look at it how we may, these masses were 
all held by single pigeons, for only one could have his feet on a 
branch. Perhaps the allusion to hogsheads may give us a slight clue 
to the wonders he saw on that memorable night. In the western 
States a pernicious liquid called " old rye " is distilled from Indian 
corn, and sometimes potatoes, and several other factors I cannot 
now remember ; but the effects on the human frame are said to be 
terribly rapid, and are probably all the more so when the sufferer 
is a subject we may fairly suppose Mr. Audubon to have been, 
and such as unaccustomed to their insidious power. He seems, 
however, to have recovered somewhat in the morning, though he 
had a slight attack before daybreak, and says that, " long before 
objects were distinguishable" — the adjective I have italicised — 
he saw that " the pigeons began to move off in a direction quite 
different from that in which they had arrived the evening before," 
and " at sunrise all that were able to fly had disappeared." The 
shadows, however, had not quite avaunted — Richard was hardly 
himself yet — for before the sun had fairly risen he saw " wolves, 
foxes, lynxes, cougars, bears, raccoons, opossums, and polecats, all 
sneaking off" from the spoil. These animals all changed for the time 
their usual habits, and waited for sunrise to seek their lairs, doubt- 
less, that Mr. Audubon might be gratified ; and probably he would, 
if a little time had been given him, have seen zebras and kangaroos 
in the interesting but motley group. Yet such men as Swainson 
gravely indorse the story. I have seen flights of pigeons in America, 
and great indeed are the numbers that will frequent a beech-nut 
plantation ; but there is nothing that cannot be pictured easily by an 
English observer, even if he does not see such gatherings at home. 

Duck-shooting in Canada is one of the most delightful sports in 
the whole range of the excitements of the chase — at any rate, for 
the shooter— and the following hints may not be useless to those 
who purpose to try their fortunes. In the first place, though in the 
right ground and at the right time of the year there is plenty of 
shooting, it by no means follows that the bag will be large, even for 
those who can render a good account of partridges or grouse in 
England. If any one is a good canoe-man, there are great advan- 
tages in using a bark canoe made out of the bark of the birch-tree* 
This tree is all in all to the Indian, or, indeed, French Canadian ; the 
bark strips off in large flakes, and can be made into basins, or 
reticules, or huts, or canoes. The writer well remembers at Rice 



The Wild Fowl of Canada. 327 

Lake, when he separated in his canoe from his companions, that a 
tumbler was forgotten, and the Indian, a remarkably handsome, civil 
young fellow, who spoke French very well and some English, volun- 
teered at once to " get one," and disappeared in the woods ; he soon 
returned with a neat drinking-cup made of birch bark, rolled up, and 
simply but securely fastened with two plugs of hard wood. The 
only objection to canoes of this material is that one may possibly hurt 
them on a snag or sunk log of wood, and it wants a little care to 
shoot from them at first in open water; but skill in that is soon 
learned. There is a cedar canoe now made for duck-shooting, that 
is light and strong ; and it can be painted slate colour, which mingles 
well with the surroundings. An old-fashioned log canoe, however, 
is not bad, and very steady in the water. They are called dug-outs, 
from the way they are made. A pine-tree is felled and shaped outside 
with axes, and the inside is simply a hollow scooped and burned out 
A man who knows the marshes and the creeks that intersect them 
sits in the stern of one of these boats, and with a single paddle drives 
her easily along. The shooter sits in the front, and sees the ducks 
rise up from the reeds before him or on either side ; but the bag is 
made either just after dawn or before sunset ; for, excepting late 
on in the year, ducks lie very close, and, indeed, seem to get out of 
the way at midday. They always choose some inaccessible part of 
a marsh, where there is not water enough to paddle a canoe and the 
bog is too deep to wade. Many acres of such places are always to 
be found in Canadian marshes. If a deep creek intersects the 
marsh, it is well, except in very warm weather, to paddle up its 
windings, and raise the fowl from the bends where they have been 
feeding or rather resting. We have sometimes seen immense 
numbers of ducks go to some distant part of a marsh that could be 
reached by a creek, but where the marsh itself was so boggy that 
they felt safe. Sometimes by paddling silently up to it, and suddenly 
making a loud noise, we could get several shots, but quite as often it 
was impossible to rouse them, and occasionally, after shouting and 
striking the side of the canoe with a paddle, we have left the place, 
but hardly proceeded a hundred yards when, with the loudest 
cacklings as if to attract our attention, a score of ducks that had 
been within a few yards of where we lay have risen from the marsh. 
But, on the other hand, I have known ducks come to within a short 
distance of where unrestrained talking was going on, and not show 
any concern. On one occasion we had decided to lunch at a 
" pond " in the marsh which could be seen from a great distance, as 
a black larch stem that had long since been dead had sprung from it, 



328 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

and still braved the storm, though the foundations it had grown on 
had sunk. Well, we met on the edge of the pond, and after 
lunching, and while smoking a cigar and arranging our various 
schemes for the duck-shooting (" flight," as it is called) at sun-down, 
one of our men, peering through the reeds, suddenly raised his hand 
and crouched. There was an end to conversation at once, and we took 
our guns and looked round and saw at least fifteen black ducks 
within twenty yards, appearing as if they were more asleep than 
awake ; but a blow on the side of the canoe put them up, and our 
two guns secured four splendid birds. The singular part of this is 
that it was on September 8, during a very warm season, and the 
northern ducks, that are " so unaccustomed to man," had not begun 
to arrive. Probably the flock were an early brood or two, that had 
been reared in some lonely part of a marsh, and had not heard many 
human voices. They must have been in a nook in some distant 
part of the pond, and gradually paddled themselves along to where 
we lay, getting accustomed to our voices as they approached. But 
it is well known that driven grouse are more frightened by a figure 
moving behind a stone wall than by any amount of talking from one 
shooter to another, so long as the sportsmen do not enter an appear- 
ance. One great trouble to the duck- shooter who tries the bays and 
creeks during the daytime is the number of water-hens that will insist 
on congregating with the ducks, and, as they are always watchful, they 
commence a garrulous chatter and fly screaming along the water so as 
to scare their companions ; several times at dusk I have mistaken one 
for a wood-duck as it suddenly rose with a scream from behind some 
tuft, and shot it in mistake. The bald-headed coots also consort with 
these, but they do not give so much trouble, as they are more shy. 

Now, the real difficulty of successful duck-shooting consists 
in this : you see them as a rule for only a few moments, and have 
no notice of their coming. You stand up in your canoe, which 
has been pushed into some thick jungle of reeds and bulrushes, all 
of which are as high as you are, and, secure from observation so 
long as you do not wear a hat or a garment that contrasts strongly 
with them in tone, you wait until a flight of two or three birds 
passes, — and as a general rule I have calculated that you do not see 
them for more than about three seconds. A great sea of reeds 
and flags and rushes six feet high shuts out the surroundings, and it 
is necessary to be continually on the alert, and, as a bird rushes past, 
to kill it dead, as it will otherwise fall in the pond or marsh, and 
easily elude any attempt to take it. Ducks fly often so low that it 
would not be possible for any amount of skill and quickness to arrest 



The Wild Fowl of Canada. 329 

their progress, as they are not visible over the tops of the reeds for a 
single second; indeed, I have known one pass between the caps 
of the gunner and his canoe- man, and be seen and gone before a 
hammer could be drawn back ; certainly a charge would have blown 
it to pieces if a gun had by any combination of chances gone off in 
its way. When, however, the birds fly at fifteen or twenty yards high, 
they may be seen for a short time, and they afford an opportunity to 
raise the gun. Along the lower St. Lawrence the flocks of sea ducks 
are simply enormous at times — at least, of ducks that I have judged 
to be sea ducks, though it is not impossible that many valuable 
species may have been mingled with them ; but I have seen flocks on 
the salt water that cannot have covered less than fifty or sixty acres, 
or numbered fewer than two or three hundred thousand, and as they 
rose the foam on the gulf was like that left after a storm, and one 
could hardly help feeling a sort of humiliation at the thought that all 
the mysteries of all the Arctic regions were as familiar to the greater 
part of the flock as Trafalgar Square is to us; and even when Jacques 
Cartier sailed down the St. Lawrence, a journey from Quebec to the 
Pole would have taken any of the ancestors of the flock less time 
and caused less inconvenience than a journey from Liverpool or 
Manchester to London would have done to the wealthiest man in 
England. Waterton, in his charming work, shows us his sympathy 
with the same idea. In his grounds was a beautiful lake that 
surrounded his house, and in this he could always study the habits 
of wild fowl, for they congregated there in thousands, knowing they 
were secure at Walton Hall. He says, " Though I dislike the cold 
and dreary months of winter as much as any man can well dislike 
them, still I always feel sorry when the returning sun prepares the 
way for the wild fowl to commence their annual migratory journey into 
the unknown regions of the north. Their flights through the heavens 
and their sportings on the pool never fail to impart both pleasure and 
instruction to me. When the time of their departure comes, I bid 
my charming company farewell, and from my heart I wish them a 
safe return." 

There is not room left to say very much about the different 
kinds of ducks that principally are found in North America. The 
one most commonly prized, always excepting the canvas-back of 
Chesapeake Bay, is the black duck. It is the size of a large mallard, 
and is of a dusky brown colour, with a bar of white and of shot blue 
on its wings. Their habits seem in all respects to be the same as the 
mallards, and they require a fairly good shot to bring them down. 
They breed all along the marshes of the St Lawrence, and also 



330 The Gentleman $ Magazine. 

migrate to the far north, the northern broods beginning to arrive on 
the Canadian marshes about the middle of October, then passing 
south, while others take their place. Their food is the wild rice, and 
the roots of this plant, which arc something like small garden turnips. 
So fat do they become, that it was common in the writer's experience 
to fill jars with wild-duck oil for home use in the same way that the 
" leaf " of a goose is used in England. Black ducks will sometimes 
become domesticated, but a wild life always suits them best I once 
saw two in a shop in Chester that had been shot, it was said, on a 
preserved pool of Sir Piers Mostyn's, but I cannot account for their 
being there, unless, indeed, a few eggs had been brought from Canada. 
The nest is often in th$ middle of a pond ; it is securely laced 
together with osiers, and balanced firmly on strong reeds, that shoot 
up from under the surface of the water. These birds rise heavily 
from the marsh, but attain in a few minutes to a great velocity of 
flight. A more interesting duck is the widgeon, that leaves England 
late, and is believed to go to the very far north. The interest 
attaching to this bird is that it differs from other ducks in not being a 
night-feeder. When teal or mallards are idly floating along the 
water, the widgeon is busily grazing ; and when not molested, it soon 
becomes friendly with tame geese, and is seen grazing in their flocks. 
Now, if, as Arctic voyagers say, these birds are seen flying southward 
over the great frozen barrier of the north, it certainly seems probable 
that grass or some equivalent must be found there. Sometimes, it is 
true, they build in the north of Scotland, according to Mr. Selby and 
Sir William Jardine. They both were fortunate enough to find one 
or two instances of this, and describe their nests as being built 
among rushes and reeds, and formed of the same materials, all 
being very cleverly concealed. I find in "Waterton" a similar 
conjecture as to the breeding-grounds of the widgeon, and he 
concludes also that grass must be found in the far regions of the 
north : " Should this conjecture prove well founded," he says, 
" we can account for the widgeon remaining with us till the 
beginning of May, at which period all the migratory water birds 
(saving a few teal which are known to breed in England) must be 
busily employed far away from us, in the essential work of incuba- 
tion. Though we are quite ignorant of the manner and place in 
which the widgeon makes its nest, and of the number and colour of 
its eggs, still we are in possession of a clue to lead us to the feet that 
it hatches its young long after its congeners, the . mallards, have 
hatched theirs. The mallards return here in full plumage early in 
the month of October, but the widgeons are in their mottled plumage 



T/te Wild Fowl of Canada. 331 

as late as the end of November." I do not remember to have seen 

a nest of these birds in Canada, but as of course Sir W. Jardine 

and Mr. Selby wrote at a later period than Waterton, it is quite 

possible that nests existed in his time which he never had come 

across, and equally possible that some few birds may build in 

Canada ; but wherever they breed, they visit Canada from their far-off 

seas and continents late in the year, to have their numbers thinned 

by the gunner before they go farther south. 

O tandem magnis pelagi defuncte pcriclis ! 
Sed terrcc graviora marten t. 

The common mallard (anas boschas), that is so universally found in 
English pools and rivers in winter, is not at all so common in Canada, 
though it frequents the far west and the south-west in great numbers ; 
but in the St. Lawrence marshes, if a bag of 100 ducks is made, it is 
probable that not two will be mallards. These birds build quite a 
small nest on the dry land, and always under cover, either in a wood 
or under a hedge in a remote place, and that, perhaps, illustrates 
their tendency to domestication, for they are the principal stock from 
which our farmyard ducks have descended. In Canada the black 
duck predominates in the farmyard type, as the mallard does in 
England, though, of course, in both we not only see the mixture of 
other types, but the alteration of plumage in confinement ; still, the 
mallard and the black duck often reappear in the most perfect 
plumage, the offspring of ducks without any distinguishing markings 
at all There are two teals commonly found in Canada, the blue- 
winged teal and the green-winged. The latter is identical with the 
English, and indeed, as this is known to nidificate in Iceland, it is 
possible that the offspring of English teal may vary their pastures to 
Greenland, and so descend upon Canada. Blue-winged teals are 
somewhat longer and more graceful, and it is a matter of wonder to me 
that they are never seen in England, for they certainly seem to belong 
to the same family. It may be more nearly allied to the garganey than the 
teal, but it has not yet been my lot to meet with a specimen of this 
rare water-fowl in England. The blue-winged teal are much more 
numerous than the green-winged teal, and are even superior birds. 
They considerately seek their feeding-grounds at a later period of the 
morning than other ducks, and that in little knots of three or four, or 
sometimes in a small flock of fifteen or twenty. Their wings are 
long, and their flight is like a shadow as they pass. If two pass by, 
it requires a wonderful shot to secure them both, for the whole time 
they are in range as they come and go is perhaps two seconds. The 
writer has, indeed, sometimes done so, but freely admits that it has 



332 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

been by the most erratic of flukes, and he hardly felt it honest to hear 
the guttural admiration of the canoe-man without some little attempt 
at a disclaimer. These blue-winged teal, however, will make a very 
good bag at times ; they do not avoid a canoe in the same way that 
other ducks do, and though you have them in range only for a 
moment, you can see them coming, for they fly over the open water, 
and seem to trust to their smallness and amazing fleetness. They 
are simply delicious for the table, and quite as tender as a wood- 
cock. The writer remembers on one occasion, late on in the year, 
hearing through the tall hollow reeds and rushes a very unusual 
sound, evidently proceeding from many sources, till, as we approached 
nearer, it almost filled the air. It was at the latter end of October, 
and the wild fowl of all kinds were gathering together to make one 
more movement south ; but, in this secluded marsh, which was, how- 
ever, of vast dimensions, a flock of blue-winged teal, which must have 
numbered at least four or five thousand, suddenly rose above the 
reeds. I never saw any sight like it. They made straight for the 
canoe ; indeed, it so happened that they had not heard mine, but 
were put up by a canoe or boat from quite the other side. The first 
shot did little damage, but it packed the birds that were coming on 
behind, so as to be ready for the second barrel, and I managed to 
secure eleven ducks, in very fine condition, by what would be cor- 
rectly termed a " pot " shot. One of the most beautiful ducks in the 
world is the Canada wood-duck. It differs from any of the others in 
having a back claw that enables it to perch on trees, and in trees it 
builds its nest. It is between a mallard and a teal in size, and the 
markings of the drake in October are wonderfully beautiful. Some 
of the islands that nestle in the bays of the St. Lawrence are covered 
with oaks, and here wood- ducks may always be found. They keep 
close under the shore, and fatten on the acorns that fall into the 
water and drift into a mass with leaves and twigs. We are all 
acquainted with the plumage of this beautiful bird from specimens in 
botanic gardens or private ponds, and it is almost a wonder that it 
has not been domesticated for farmhouse use. A fabulous price is 
given for wing-feathers for dressing salmon flies, but I suspect the 
real value of these flies is their beautiful appearance in the fly-book 
and their comparative rareness ; for actual service, a dusky hackle 
would be preferred. The pintail duck is precisely the same in 
habits and appearance as our own. They are quite common in 
marshes and rivers in England, and are often called the sea-pheasant. 
The male is a beautiful bird, but the female, as in the case of the 
wood-duck and mallard, is a dull brownish creature. These birds 
seem to have a liking for inland journeys, and are often raiaed fio m 



The Wild Fowl of Canada. 333 

ponds in the middle of dry farms, if there is a little growth round the 
sides. The poachard is similar to our own bird of the same name, 
and like it excels in diving and getting away if wounded. They 
bear a great resemblance to the canvas-back if fed in the same 
places ; but though they have been called the same bird, I believe 
them to be a totally different species. Still, when fed on wild rice 
beds, and in really good condition, they are but little inferior to that 
celebrated bird. I have occasionally caught young ones, and tried 
to bring them up with other kinds of ducks, but never succeeded. It 
seems as if they pined in captivity, though, as a very general rule, a 
little feeling of security will win over any wild duck. Naturalists, in 
order to make a distinction between this and the canvas-back, have 
called it anas rubida, the name of the latter being anas vallisneria. 

Amongst the other ducks are the anas tnariila y or scoup 
duck, or blue- bill, which is so called from the singular colour 
of its bill. It breeds in the fa%north, and frequents the rice marshes 
of Canada from the end of September until the winter has closed 
them up. It flies with great swiftness, but is not so shy as the black 
duck ; and with it comes the tiny anas albeola, buffle-head, or, as it is 
sometimes called, butter-ball. This duck, I believe, is not found in 
Europe, but in America it is very abundant. When divested of its 
feathers, and appearing on the table, where it is always welcomed as 
a breakfast dish, it is scarcely larger than a pigeon. There is also 
the glacialis or long-tailed duck, and the various kinds of anas nigra, 
or scoter, the ruddy duck, and the beautiful anas labradoria % or 
pied duck, a species peculiar to America. It is calculated that there 
are thirty-two species of ducks in Europe, and thirty-one in North 
America, and of these twenty-one are common to both countries, 
leaving eleven peculiar to America. Though there are great numbers 
of wild ducks left in England, their numbers are small as compared 
with what were formerly found. Pennant had the records of ten 
decoys sent to him, and these numbered 32,000 birds in a single 
winter. Still, they will always be found in winter in this country ; and 
if a law similar to one passed in a western state of America, that pro- 
hibited the shooting of prairie hens for two years, were passed for 
ducks in England, the immense flights from the north that used to 
visit us would reappear in equal numbers, and spread over our lakes, 
and rivers, and marshes ; but, though it is not generally known, the 
game laws are in some respects more rigid in America and Canada 
than people would submit to in England 

The aptitude of ducks for domestic life is curious ; not only do 
they seem to sun themselves in human society in their lazy way, but 
they endeavour to induce their wild fellows to join the farmyard. 



334 7*^* Gentleman's Magazine. 

Often their conduct seems strange, as the following anecdote, which 
is accurate, will show, though the scene lay not in Canada, but near 
Delamere Forest in Cheshire. A farmer had lost some very valuable 
ducks, and he supposed the foxes had relieved him of their charge, 
for these animals are very numerous in those parts. There were 
three pairs missing, and he supposed he should never see them 
again ; but late in the autumn after his loss, his heart was rejoiced on 
hearing the cackling of forty or fifty ducks in his farmyard, and there 
he found the truants with a goodly following. All was now clear. 
The parent ducks had built by the side of some marshy pool or 
mere, of which there are many in the forest, and being at no loss for 
food, had brought up their progeny till the signs of what proved to be 
a very severe winter reminded them that they had brought them up in 
the wilderness ; and as they were not able to fly to milder skies, the 
parent ducks bethought themselves of the fleshpots of Egypt, and 
returned with the colony. But another anecdote illustrates the freaks of 
gregariousness in the duck tribe more curiously. On the north side 
of Lake Ontario is a large bay called the Bay of Quinte, which is, in 
fact, the vast marsh through which the waters of Rice Lake, so dear 
to duck-shooters, empty themselves into Lake Ontario. Round this bay 
are lands of great richness, and many wealthy farmers. A son ot 
one of these had collected a number of mallards' eggs and put them 
under sitting hens on the farm, and they were hatched, and seemed 
to thrive well, disappearing sometimes during the summer days on 
the neighbouring marsh, and always returning before very long to the 
farm. They remained over winter, and seemed to be domesticated ; 
but in the spring, when flights of ducks were making their way 
northward, they saw a flock of golden-eyes passing over the field, 
and — it is supposed that the season of the year had much to do with 
it — they suddenly joined the flock with more alacrity in their flight 
than the farmer's daughter who had seen them rise thought possible, 
and left their home. But in this instance, again, old familiar scenes 
appear to have dwelt on their minds, and they sought their former 
abode; for, to the amazement of the farmer, a flock of mallards, when 
the birds were flying southward in the " fall," as autumn is termed 
in America, wheeled round his fields for some little time, and settled 
down close by his house, where they remained during the rest of the 
fall-time ; and it grieves me to say that the old mallards and their 
broods, so generously confided to his care, were utilised for the larder, 
so that we have no knowledge of what their subsequent conduct 
would have been, or if, when winter finally hardened the ground, they 
would have joined their garrulous fellows overhead. 

ALFRED JtnUftt, 



335 



THE WILL-O-THE-IVISP AND ITS 

FOLK-LORE. 



AMONG the many sources of superstition in this and other 
countries, the phenomenon well known as the Will-o'-the- 
Wisp has from time immemorial held a prominent place. Indeed, 
it would be no easy task to enumerate the various shapes in which 
the imagination has pictured this mysterious appearance, not to 
mention the manifold legends that have clustered round it. In days 
gone by, when our credulous forefathers believed in the intervention 
of fairies in human affairs, the Will-o'-the-Wisp entered largely into 
their notions respecting the agency of these little beings in their 
dealings with mankind; and, as will be seen in the course of the 
present paper, numerous stories were often related in which some 
fairy disguised as Will-o , - the- Wisp was the chief character. It is 
worthy, too, of note that, although in these enlightened days every 
relic of primitive culture is gradually fading from our gaze, the old 
superstitious fancies associated with this nocturnal visitor still 
survive with more or less vigour, retaining that hold on the vulgar 
mind which they formerly possessed. Thus, in remote villages and 
secluded country nooks the peasant, whilst not forgetting the tradi- 
tions handed down to him, continues to believe with implicit faith in 
those quaint and weird fancies which have invested the Will-o'-the- 
Wisp with such a peculiar dread This terror, as we shall point out, 
in a great measure originated in the many tales and legends that 
were in past centuries framed to explain and account for this decep- 
tive phenomenon. 

Referring, then, in the first place, to the various names assigned 
to it ; many of these are extremely curious, differing according to the 
country and locality. Its most popular appellation, Will-o'-the-Wisp, 
was probably derived from its customary appearance ; this wandering 
meteor having been personified because it looked to the spectators 
like a person carrying a lighted straw torch in his hand. Hence it 
has been termed Jack, Gill, Joan, Will, or Robin, indifferently, 
in accordance with the fancy of the rustic mind ; the supposed spirit 



336 T/te Gentleman! s Magazine. 

of the lamp being thought to resemble either a male or female 
apparition. Hentzner, for instance, in his "Travels in England" 
(1598) relates how returning from Canterbury to Dover, "there were 
a great many Jack-a-lanthorns, so that we were quite seized with 
horror and amazement." 

In Worcestershire, the phenomenon is termed by the several 
names of " Hob-and-his-Lan thorn," " Hobany's Lanthorn," and 
" Hoberdy's Lanthorn " — the word Hob in each case being the same 
name as occurs in connection with the phrase hobgoblin. It appears 
that, in days gone by, Hob was a frequent name among common 
people, and curiously enough Coriolanus (Act ii. sc. 3) speaks of it 
as used by the citizens of Rome : — 

Why in this wolvish gown should I stand here, 
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear 
Their needless vouches ? 

Subsequently, Hob seems to have been used as a substitute for 
Hobgoblin, as in Beaumont and Fletcher's " Monsieur Thomas " 
(Act iv. sc. 6) : — 

From elves, hobs, and fairies, 
From fire-drakes or fiends, 
And such as the devil sends, 
Defend us, good Heaven ! 

A Northamptonshire name is Jinny Buntail, which is evidently a 
corruption of Jinn with the burnt tail, or " Jild burnt tail,* an allusion to 
which occurs in Gayton's " Notes on Don Quixote" (1654, 97), where 
we read of " Will with the Wispe, or Gyl burnt tayle," and again 
(268) of "An ignis fatuus, or exhalation, and Giilon a burnt tayle, 
or Will with the Wispe." The Somersetshire peasant talks of " Joan- 
in-the-Wad," and " Jack-a-Wad," Wad and Wisp being synonymous. 
In Suffolk it was known as " A Gylham lamp," in reference to which 
we are told in Gough's " Camden " (ii. 90) how " in the low grounds 
at Sylham, just by Wingfield, are the ignes fatui, commonly called 
Sylham lamps, the terror and destruction of travellers, and even of 
the inhabitants, who are frequently misled by them." 

Another of its popular nicknames in former years was " Kit of 
the Canstick " — i.e. candlestick ; and in " Poor Robin's Almanack " 
for 1777 it is styled " Peg-a-lantern " : — 

I should indeed as soon expect 
That Peg-a-lantern would direct 
Me straightway home on misty night; 
As wand 'ring stars, quite out of sight, 
Pegg's dancing light does oft betray, 
And lead her followers astray. 



The Will-d -the-Wisp audits Folk-Lore. 337 

The expression ignis fatuus, or foolish fire, originated in its leading 
men astray, as in the " Tempest " (Act iv. sc. 1), where Stephanio 
says : " Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has 
done little better than played the jack with us ; " — a passage which is 
explained by Johnson thus : " He has played Jack-with-alantern ; 
he has led us about like an ignis fatuus, by which travellers are 
decoyed into the mire." Thus Gray describes it : — 

How Will-a'-Wisp misleads night-gazing clowns 
O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs. 

In Scotland, one of the names for this appearance is " Dank Will," 
and in Ireland its is known as w Miscann Many " ; an allusion to 
which occurs in Croker's " Fairy Legends of the South of Ireland '' 
in the story of the " Spirit Horse," where Morty Sullivan is so sadly 
deluded by it. 

Again, the term " Fire-drake," l which is jocularly used in " Henry 
VIII." (Act v. sc. 4) for a man with a red face, was one of the 
popular names for the Will-o'-the-Wisp ; in allusion to which Burton 
in his " Anatomie of Melancholy " says : " Fiery spirits or devils 
are such as commonly work by fire-drakes or ignes fatoi, which lead 
men often in flumina et prcecipitia" It appears, also, that in Shake- 
speare's day " a walking fire " was another common name for the 
Will-o'-the-Wisp ; to which he probably refers in " King Lear " (Act 
iv. sc 3), where, Gloster's torch being seen in the distance, the fool 
says, " Look, here comes a walking fire ; " whereupon Edgar replies, 
" This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibet ; he begins at Curfew and 
walks till the first cock." Hence Mr. Hunter 2 considers that Flib- 
bertigibet was a name for the Will-o'-the-Wisp. That, however, this 
phenomenon was known as the " Walking Fire " is evident from the 
old story " How Robin Goodfellow led a company of Fellowes out 
of their way." 3 "A company of young men having been making 
merry with their sweethearts were, at their coming home, to come 
over a heath. Robin Goodfellow, knowing of it, met them, and, to 
make some pastime, he led them up and down the heath a whole 
night, so that they could not get out of it : for he went before them 
in the shape of ' a walking fire/ which they ail saw and followed till 

1 A* "Fire-drake" appears to have been also an artificial firework— as in 
Middlcton's " Five Gallants":— 

But, like fired rakes, 
Mounted a little, gave a crack, and fell. 

* New Illustrations of the Life, Studies, and Writings of Shakespeare, ii. 27a. 

• Hazlitt's Fairy Mythology of Shakespeare, 187$. 186. 
VOL. CCL. NO. 1803. Z 



338 The GentUinafts Magazine: 

the day did appear; then Robin left them, and at his departure Spake 

these words — 

Get home, you merry lads, 
Tell your mammies and your dads. 
And all those that newes desire 
How you saw a walking fire; 
Wenches that doe smile and lispe 
Use to call me Willy Wispe." 

The Will-o'-the-Wisp is not, it would £eem, confined to land — sailors 
often meeting with it at sea — an efegant description of which is 
given by Ariel in the " Tempest" (Act i. sc 2) : — 

Sometimes I'd divide 
And burn in many plices ; on the topmast, 
The yards and bowspit ; would I flame distinctly, 

Then meet and join. 

It is called by the French and Spaniards inhabiting the coasts of the 
Mediterranean St. Helene's or St. Telme's fires ; by the Italians, the 
fire of St. Peter and St. Nicholas. 1 It is also known as the fire of 
St. Helen, St. Herm, and St. Clare. Whenever it appeared as a 
single flame it was supposed by the ancients to be Helena, the sister 
of Castor and Pollux, and "to bring ill luck, from the calamities which 
this lady is known to have caused in the Trojan war. When it came 
as a double flame, it was called Castor and Pollux, and accounted 
a good omen. It has also been described as a little blaze of fire, 
sometimes appearing by night on the tops of soldiers' lances, or 
at sea on masts and sailyards, whirling and leaping in the twinkling 
of an eye from one place to another. According to some, it never 
appears but after a tempest, and is supposed to lead people to 
suicide by drowning. Douce, 2 commenting on the passage in the 
" Tempest," quoted above, thinks that Shakespeare consulted Bat- 
man's " Golden books of the leaden goddes," who, speaking of 
Castor and Pollux, says : " They were figured like two lamps or 
crescent lights, one on the top of a mast, the other on the stem or 
foreship." He adds that if the first light appears in the foreship 
and ascends upwards, it is a sign of good luck ; if either light begins 
at the top-mast and descends towards the sea, it is a sign of a 
tempest. In taking, therefore, the latter position, Ariel had fulfilled 
the commands of Prospero to raise a storm. This, then, coincides 
with the following lines 3 : — •. 

1 Brand's Pop. Antiq., 1849, iii. 400-401. 

* Doucc's Illustrations of Shakespeare, 1839, 3. 

* Swainson's Weather Lore^ 193. 



T/ie Wtll-o'-tke-Wisp and its Folk- Lore. 339 

Last night I saw Saint Elmo's stars, 

With their glittering lanterns all at play 
On the tops of the masts and tips of the spars, 

And I knew we should have foul weather that day. 

A curious illustration of this phenomenon is recorded in "Hakluyt's 
Voyages " (1598, iii. 450) : " I do remember that in the great and 
boisterous storm of this foul weather, in the night there came upon 
the top of our mainyard and mainmast a certain little light, much 
like unto the light of a little candle, which the Spaniards call the 
Cuerpo Santo. This light continued aboord our ship about three 
houres, flying from mast to mast, and from top to top ; and some- 
times it would be in two or three places at once." This meteor 
was by some supposed to be a spirit, and by others an exhalation 
of moist vapours, thought to be engendered by foul and tempestuous 
weather. 

Referring, in the next place, to the legends associated with the 
Will- o'- the- Wisp, we may mention that these, although differing in 
many respects, generally invest this strange mimicry in nature with 
the supernatural element, which is said to be generally exercised for 
the purpose of deluding, in some way way or other, the benighted 
traveller. Indeed, it would seem that m past centuries whatever 
phenomena were of an apparently illusive or hostile character were 
regarded by primitive science as specially designed to work pain or 
evil, even although, by way of treacherous bait, they might possess the 
most attractive qualities. Thus, as Mr. Conway has pointed out in 
his excellent work on " Demonology and Devil Lore " (1880, ii. 212), 
because many a pilgrim " perished through a confidence in the lake* 
pictures of the mirage which led to carelessness about economising 
his skin of water, the mirage gained its present name — Bahr Sheitan, 
or Devil's Water." Thus, oftentimes, the harmless and beautiful 
phenomena in nature have been invested with an evil name ; simply 
because our ancestors, living in the childhood of the world, were 
unable to comprehend their meaning, and so in all the freshness 
of their creative fancy regarded them as demoniacal agencies to 
thwart and hinder man's progress in moral culture. Strange, there- 
fore, as it may seem, we in our nineteenth century have in many of 
the legends that survive in this and other countries relics of Aryan 
science, which, although meaningless to the casual observer, yet 
embody the teaching of primitive man. 

In this country the Will-o'- the- Wisp has been connected with the 
fairy race from early times, a fact proved by its old name of Elf-fire. 
The same notion, too, existed in Germany, for Grimm informs us 

z 2 



340 The Gentlemaris Magazine. 

that it was there formerly known as Elglicht ; and in Denmark as 
Vaettylis. On this point Mr. Brand l has rightly remarked that the 
naturalists of the dark ages " owed many obligations to our fairies, 
for whatever they found wonderful and could not account for, they 
easily got rid of by charging to their account Thus they called 
those which have since been supposed to have been the heads of 
arrows or spears, before the use of iron was known, Elfshots? In 
the same way Shakespeare uses the expression " Elfish-marked " ; * 
and also speaks of Elf-locks in " Romeo and Juliet" 8 — 

This is that very Mab 
That plats the manes of horses in the night 
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. 

A disease, too, consisting of a hardness of the side was in days gone 

by termed Elf-cake. Just, then, as the fairies were supposed to be 

guilty of committing various pranks as seen in the sundry mishaps 

that befall humanity, so the Will-o'-the-Wisp with its treacherous 

light was reckoned amongst them. Thus Shakespeare represents 

Puck as transforming himself into a fire, by which he clearly alluded 

to the Will-o'-the-Wisp; and it may be remembered how the fairy 

asks him 4 — 

Arc you not he 
That fright the maidens of the villagery, 
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm : 

We have already noticed, too, Shakespeare's allusion to Ariel's assuming 
this form, who, like Puck, is a fairy. The term Puck, which is evidently 
the same as the old word " Pouke," a devil or evil spirit, still survives, 
although its spelling in lapse of years has become somewhat altered. 
The following passage from a modern writer 5 proves too that in some 
places the idea of Puck as a delusive fairy haunting the woods and 
fields is not yet extinct : " The peasants in certain districts of Wor- 
cestershire say that they are sometimes what they call ' Poake-ledden,' 
that is, they are occasionally waylaid in the night by a mischievous 
sprite whom they call Poake, who leads them into ditches, bogs, 
pools, and other such scrapes, often sets up a loud laugh, and leaves 
them, quite bewildered, in the lurch." This corresponds with what in 

1 Pop. Afttiq.y 1849, ii. 490. 

• " Richard III.,' Act i. sc. 3. 

• " Romeo and Juliet," Act i. sc. 4. 

4 "Midsummer Night's Dream," Act. i. sc. I. 

• Mr. J. Allies' On the Ignis Faiuus. 



The WilW-the- Wisp and Us Folk-Lore. 341 

Devon is called being Pixy-led ; and various stories are told how the 
frolicsome pixies deceive travellers with the Will-o'-the-Wisp, and 
chuckle over their dismay when they are lost for a time on the moor. 
By moonlight the Pixy-Monarch was supposed to hold his court, where, 
like Titania, he gave his subjects their several charges. Some were 
sent to the mines, where they either good-naturedly led the miner to 
the richest lode, or maliciously, by noises imitating the stroke of the 
hammer, and by " false fires," drew him on to the worst ore in the 
mine. Countless are the stories told in Devonshire of these Pixy 
illusions ; and a popular means of counteracting them was to turn 
one's coat inside out — a remedy which appears to have been in use 
in other parts of England, being mentioned by Bishop Corbet in his 
" Iter Boreaie " :-- 

William found 
A mean for our deliverance. Turne your cloakes, 
Quoth hee, for Puck is busy in these oakes ; 
If ever wee at Bosworth Hill be found, 
Then turne your cloakes, for this is fairy ground. 

In Cornwall, a strong belief prevails about the mischievous pranks 
of the piskies, and they are the subject of numerous superstitions. 
They are said to control the mist, and to have the power, when so 
disposed, of casting a thick veil over the traveller as he returns home 
after sunset Hence the peasant may occasionally be heard uttering 
the following petition with a certain degree of faith: — 

Jack o* the Lantern, Joan the wad, 
Who tickled the maid and made her mad, 
Light me home, the weather's bad. 

By the Dorsetshire folk, this mysterious fairy is called a Pexy and 
Colpexy ; and in Hampshire the Colt-pixy was the supposed sprite 
who led horses into bogs and other outlandish places. Once more, 
as a further proof of the connection of the elfin or fairy- face with the 
ignis fatuus, it may be noted that " Mab-led," pronounced Mob-led, 
signified led astray by a Will-o'-the-Wisp. Why, however, the fairy 
Queen Mab should be thus introduced originated, no doubt, in her 
fondness of playing jokes, as alluded to by Shakespeare in the 
passage already quoted above from " A Midsummer Night's Dream." 

According to Sir Walter Scott, the Will-o'-the-Wisp is a strolling 
demon or spectre, bent upon doing mischief, who once upon a time 
gained admittance into a monastery as a scullion and played the 
monks all kinds of pranks. The followers of Marmion attributed the 
mysterious disasters that befell them at Gifford Castle to the guidance 
of the assumed ecclesiatic— •" The Cursed Palmer"— and expressed 



342 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

the belief that it had been better for them had they been lantern-led 
by Friar Rush — 

What else but evil could betide, 
With that cursed Palmer for our guide ? 
Better we had through mire and bush 
Been lantern-led by Friar Rush. 

The wandering demon, it seems, was known in many parts of 
Scotland by the familiar name of "Spunkie," whose freaks and 
mischievous character form the subject-matter of numerous length- 
ened tales. Mr. Guthrie, in his " Scenes and Legends of the Vale of 
Strathmore" (1875, IOO )> tc ^ s us now "many a poor benighted wight 
hath this uncannie warlock driven to his wits'-end by his uncouth 
gambols and deceptive light, and many a bold and valiant knight 
hath he laid hors de combat on the marshy plain." Milton in his 
" Paradise Lost " (ix. 634), whilst explaining the philosophy of this 
superstitious appearance, alludes to the notion which associates it 
with an evil spirit in the well-known lines: — 

A wandering fire, 
Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night 
Condenses, and the cold environs round, 
Kindled through agitation to a flame, 
Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends, 
Hovering and blazing with delusive light, 
Misleads th' amaz'd night-wand'rer from his way 
To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool, 
There swallow'd up and lost from succour far. 

In Normandy, the peasant believes that the Will-o'-the-Wisp is a 
cruel and malicious spirit whom it is highly dangerous to encounter. 
Mdlle. Bosquet, in her " Normandie Romanesque et Merveilleuse," 
says that it follows and persecutes any unfortunate person who runs 
away from it ; his only chance of escape, when sore-prest, being to 
throw himself on his face and to invoke the Divine assistance. 
Hence the Feux Follet, as it is called, is a source of terror, and its 
weird appearance is much dreaded by old and young; many stories 
being told of the injury done to unwary travellers by its wicked 
knavery. 

Again, a Danish tradition affirms that Jack-o'-Lanterns are the 
spirits of unrighteous men, who by a false glimmer seek to mislead 
the wayfarer and to decoy him into bogs and moors. The best 
safeguard against them, when they appear, is to turn one's cap inside 
out. One should never point at them, as they will come if pointed 
at. It is also said that if any one calls them, they will come and 



The WilM -the-Wisp and its Folk-Lore. 343 

light the person who called. 1 A popular belief in Sweden says that 
"Jack-with-the-Lantern" was formerly a mover of landmarks, and 
for his unjust acts is doomed to wander backwards and forwards, 
with a light in his hand, as if he were in search of something. Thus, 
he who in his lifetime has been guilty of such a crime is believed to 
have no peace or rest in his grave after deaih, but to rise every 
midnight, and with a lantern in his hand to proceed to the spot 
where in days gone by the landmark had stood which he had 
fraudulently removed. On reaching the place, however, he is seized, 
says Mr. Thorpe, with the same desire which instigated him in his 
lifetime when he went forth to remove his neighbour's landmark, and 
he says as he goes, in a harsh hoarse voice : " It is right ! it is right ! 
it is right ! " But on his returning, qualms of conscience and anguish 
seize him, and he then exclaims : " It is wrong ! it is wrong ! it is 
wrong ! " There is also a Danish tradition which informs us, that 
near Skovby, on the isle of Falster, there are many Jack-o'-Lanterns. 
They are believed to be the soul of land-measurers, who, having in 
their lifetime perpetrated injustice in their measurements, are doomed 
to run up Skovby bakke at midnight, which they measure with red 
hot irons, exclaiming, " Here is the clear and right boundary ! from 
here to there." By another curious notion the Will-o'-the- Wisps are 
represented to be the souls of unbaptized clildren. On one occasion, 2 
a Dutch parson happening to go home to his village late one evening 
fell in with no less than three of these fiery phenomena. Remem- 
bering them to be the souls of unbaptized children, he solemnly 
stretched out his hand and pronounced the words of baptism over 
them. .Much, however, to his consternation and surprise, in the 
twinkling of an eye a thousand or more of these apparitions suddenly 
made their appearance — no doubt all earnestly wanting to be baptized. 
The good man, runs the story, was so terribly frightened, that, for- 
getting all his kind intentions, he took to his heels and ran home as 
last as his legs could take him. In Lusatia, where the same superstition 
prevails, these fires are supposed to be quite harmless ; and the souls 
of the unbaptized children to be relieved from their destined wanderings 
so soon as any pious hand throws a handful of consecrated ground 
after them. 8 A Brittany piece of folk-lore is that the " Porte- brandon " 
appears in the form of a child bearing a torch, which he turns round 
like a burning wheel— occasionally setting fire to the villages which 
from] some inexplicable cause are suddenly wrapped in flames. 

1 Thorpe's North-German Mythology \ 185 1, ii. 211. 
1 Engel's Musical Myths and Facts, 1876, i. 207. 
• Thoms's Notclcts an Shakespeare, 1865, 63. 



344 Tke Gentleman's Magazine. 

According to a Netherlandish tradition, 1 because the souls of these 
wretched children cannot enter Heaven, they, under the form of 
"Jack-oVLanterns," take their abode in forests, and in dark and 
desert places, where they mourn over their bitter lot Whenever they 
are fortunate enough to see any one, they run up and hasten before 
him, in order to show the way to some water that they may get bap- 
tized. Should no one take compassion on them, it is said that they 
must for ever remain without the gates of Paradise. 

Among other legends connected with this subject, we may 
mention one current on the Continent thus recorded by Carl EngeL* 
On the ridge of the high Rhon, near Bischofsheim, there are two 
morasses, known as the red and black morass — where two villages 
are reported to have stood which sunk into the earth on account of 
the dissolute life of the inhabitants. 3 On these two morasses there 
appear at night maidens in the shape of dazzling apparitions of light 
They float and flutter over the light of their former home ; but are 
now less frequently seen than in the olden time. A good many 
years ago, two or three of these fiery maidens came occasionally to 
the village of Wustersachsen and mingled with the dancers at wakes. 
They sang with inexpressible sweetness ; but they never remained 
beyond midnight When their allowed time had elapsed there always 
came flying a white dove, which they followed. Then they went to 
the mountain singing, and soon vanished out of the sight of the 
people who followed, watching them with curiosity. A Normandy 
tradition says that the ignis fatuus is the spirit of some unhappy 
woman, 4 who, as a punishment, is destined to run la fourolle to 
expiate her intrigues with a minister of the church; and on this 
account it is designated La Fourolle. A somewhat similiar belief 
once prevailed in this country, for we are told 5 that the lights which 
are usually seen in churchyards and moorish places were repre- 
sented by the popish clergy to be " souls come out of purgatory all 
in flame, to move the people to pray for their entire deliverance ; by 
which they gulled them of much money to say mass for them, every 
one thinking it might be the soul of his or her deceased relations. n 
This superstition is alluded to in the " Comical Pilgrim's Pilgrimage 
into Ireland " (1723, 92): "An ignis fatuus the silly people deem 

1 Thorpe's North-German Mythology % iii. 220. 

2 Musical Myths and Facts, i. 208. 

1 Cf. similar talc in Hunt's Popular Romances of the West of England, 
4 See Mdlle. Bosquet's Normandic Romanesque et Mcrveilleuu. 
* A Wonderful History of all the Storms, etc., and Lights thai lead People out of 
their way in the Night, 1704, 75, quoted by Brand, Pop. Antuj. iii. 390, 



The Will-o % -the Wisp and its Folk-Lore. 345 

to be a soul broken out of purgatory." It is also said that the Will- 
o'-the-Wisp is the soul of a priest l who has been condemned to 
expiate his vows of perpetual chastity by wandering about; and 
Mr. Thorns says it is very probable that it is to some similar belief 
existing in this country at the time when he wrote that Milton alludes 
in " L' Allegro," when he says : — 

She was pinched and pulled, she said, 
And he by Friar's lanthorn led. 

Once more, in Altmark, Will- o'- the- Wisps are supposed to be 
souls of lunatics unable to rest in their graves, and are known as 
" Light-men." Although they may sometimes mislead they often 
guide rightly, especially if a small coin be thrown them. 

Such, then, are some of the principal legends and superstitions that 
have been connected with this strange phenomenon, the majority 
of which, while investing it with a supernatural origin, regard it as 
an object of terror ; and, on this account, in our own and other 
countries, the peasantry still look upon it as a thing to be avoided. 
It was formerly thought to have something ominous in its nature, 
and to presage death and other misfortune. Thus, in Buckingham- 
shire, 2 a species of this phenomenon, locally known as " the wat," 
was said to haunt prisons. Oftentimes before the arrival of the judges 
at the assizes it has, we are told, been known to make its appearance 
like a little flame, being considered fatal to every prisoner to whom it 
became visible. The same dread is attached to it in Sussex, and 
Mrs. Latham, in her " West Sussex Superstitions," 3 tells us that in 
a village where she once resided the direction of its rapid undulat- 
ing movement was always carefully observed, from an anxiety to 
ascertain where it would disappear, as it was believed to be — 

The hateful messenger of heavy things, 
Of death and dolour telling 

to the inhabitants of the house nearest that spot Considerable 
alarm was on one occasion created by a pale light being observed 
to move over the bed of a sick person, and, after flickering for some 
time in different parts of the room, to vanish through the window. 
It happened, however, that the mystery was soon afterwards cleared 
up, for, as Mrs. Latham tells us, " when reading in her room after 
midnight, all at once something fell upon the open page and 
appeared to have ignited it She soon perceived that the light pro- 

1 Thoms's NoUUts on Shakespeare •, 65. 
* Brand's Pop, Antiq. iii. 402. 
1 Folk Lore Record, i. 53. 



$46 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

ceeded from a luminous insect, which proved to be the male glow- 
worm." In the same way the " Corpse candle " in Wales, also 
called the " fetch-light/' or " dead-man* s candle," is regarded as 
an ominous sign, and believed to be a forerunner of death. Some- 
times it appears in the form of a plain tallow candle in the hand of 
a ghost, and at other times it looks like a "stately flambeau, 
stalking along unsupported, burning with a ghastly blue flame. 1 " It 
is considered dangerous to interfere with this fatal portent; and 
persons who have attempted to check its course are reported to have 
come severely to grief ; many actually being struck down where they 
stood as a punishment for their audacity. A Carmarthenshire 
tradition, recorded by Mr. Wirt Sykes, relates that one day when the 
coach which runs between Llandilo and Carmarthen was passing by 
Golden Grove, three corpse candles were observed on the surface of 
the water gliding down the stream which runs near the road. All 
the passengers saw them. A few days after, some men were about 
to cross the river near there, when one of them expressed his fear at 
venturing, as the river was flooded, and he remained behind. Thus 
the fatal number crossed the river — three — three corpse-candles 
having foretold their fate ; and all were drowned In conclusion, 
we would only add that Will-o'-the- Wisps have long ago happily 
disappeared from all marshes and lowlands as soon as drained and 
brought under cultivation— these "wildfires," as they have been 
called, preferring some supposed haunted and desolate bog for their 
habitation. 

1 Wirt Sikes, British Goblins, 139, 

T. F. THISELTON DYER. 



347 



C 



A SUCCESSFUL AFRICAN 

JOURNEY. 

CENTRAL AFRICA has lately been receiving a great deal of 
attention, and its secrets are being rapidly made known .by 
the various expeditions which have been sent thither during. the last 
few years. In the work of exploration part is being taken by more 
than one of the European nations. Travellers, missionaries, and 
traders are combining to make us acquainted with these populous 
regions, and engaging in a friendly rivalry in opening them to 
civilisation and to commerce. A great impetus has been given by 
the King of the Belgians, at whose invitation a geographical con- 
ference was held at Brussels in September 1876. This was followed 
by the despatch of several expeditions under the auspices of the 
International African Association, and the work was soon taken up 
by our Royal Geographical Society. A special fund was raised, 
and Messrs. Keith Johnston and Joseph Thomson were selected to 
take command of the expedition. The former of these had already 
served his apprenticeship as an explorer in South America, and his 
companion was well qualified by his attainments as a geologist and 
naturalist The funds which came in did not allow the Society to 
embark in a very ambitious undertaking, but a route was decided 
upon, the exploration of which could but add materially to our know- 
ledge of tropical Africa. Between the east coast and the northern 
end of Lake Nyassa, and onwards to the Tanganyika, there was yet 
much untrodden ground through which there might be facilities 
for the formation of trade routes to those lakes, and it was this country 
that the travellers were instructed to explore. 

Leaving England in November 1878, Johnston and Thomson 
arrived at Zanzibar, the starting-point for- all expeditions into Eastern 
Africa, in the early days of 1879. A few days' delay at Aden on 
the way was made use of for a short exploratory trip across to 
Somali-land, the fruits of which were sent home in a paper entitled 
" Four Days in Berberah," containing, besides a general description 
of the place and people, tome valuable observations on. the geology 



348 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

and physical geography of the neighbourhood At Zanzibar prepa- 
rations had to be made for the journey into the interior, and carriers 
engaged for the necessary impedimenta of the expedition. They 
had the good fortune to secure, through Bishop Steere, the services 
of Chuma, Livingstone's favourite attendant, as headman of their 
party. Then, as some weeks remained before the breaking up of 
the rainy season, Johnston utilised it by a visit to the mountainous 
country of Usambara. An interesting account of this visit was 
published in the " Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society " l 
(Sept 1879), accompanied by some geological notes by Thomson. 
This country " may be taken as an epitome of all Africa. There 
was a little bit of arid, level, uninhabited desert, a bit of undulating, 
cultivated, and populous country, and beyond that a tract of mountain 
forest and stiff climbing. The magnitude of the trees and the 
density of the forest," writes Johnston, " exceeded anything I had 
imagined in Africa, and reminded me of Northern Paraguay, only 
here there is much less variety in the tree forms." The geological 
formations noted were the metamorphic gneiss of the inland hills, 
succeeded by sandstones and limestones of the carboniferous series, 
two old sea beaches of the tertiary period formed by successive 
upheavals of the African coast, and lastly, the alluvium of the 
Pangani river. 

By the middle of May the rains had abated sufficiently to enable 
the travellers to make a start, and they left Zanzibar on board one of 
the Sultan's steamships and landed at the port of Dar-es-Salaam, a 
short distance to the south. Besides their large following of 150 men, 
they were accompanied so far by Dr. Kirk, who rendered them such 
nelp as his experience enabled him to confer. A day or two later 
the party set out for the interior, with the indispensable African 
accompaniments of shooting, blowing of horns, drumming and 
shouting. Proceeding first in a south-westerly direction, it passed 
through the broad level tract of Uzaramo, and on June 15 touched 
the Rufiji or Lufiji river at the village of KimkumbL This river 
appears to take a large bend to the northward from the point where 
Captain Elton crossed it not far from the sea, turning again at 
Kimkumbi slightly to the southward. Its bed was full of sand 
islands and banks, with snags sticking up everywhere, and it was 
thus ill-adapted for navigation. Although Johnston had waited some 
time at Zanzibar, the wet season was not yet over, and the first part 

1 In this publication Johnston's and Thomson's papers and letters on the 
expedition (with maps) have been from time to time published, and to them I am 
chiefly indebted for the information contained in this article. 



A Successful African yourney. 349 

of the journey was accomplished through drenching rain, the low 
sandy plain being but little better than a marsh. To this is probably 
to be attributed the unfortunate death of the leader of the expedition. 
Whilst on a hunting excursion in Uzaramo, Johnston got wet through, 
and was too intent on the search for game to take off his wet 
clothes. Next morning he complained of what he thought was 
rheumatism in the back, and dosed himself under that idea till more 
unmistakable symptoms convinced him that he was suffering from an 
attack of dysentery. Through the delay in the application of the 
proper remedies, the disease became so much the more difficult to 
remove ; the onward march in the continual rains only made 
Johnston worse, and he soon had to be carried in a sort of hammock. 
He got gradually weaker, and at Behobeho, about 130 miles from 
Dar-es-Salaam, he died (June 28). Thus was one more added to the 
many brave travellers who have found a grave in African soil, and 
Thomson, a young man 22 years of age, was left alone in charge of 
the expedition. It is sad that the accomplished young traveller, who 
had qualified himself for the work in which he was engaged by the 
studies and training of his whole life, should thus have succumbed 
almost at the outset of his mission. The loss to geographical science 
is a great one, for had he lived much might have been predicted of 
the service he would have been sure to render in the exploration of 
Africa. It was well, however, that his companion was a man who 
would not give way to difficulties without an effort Young as he 
was, and unused to the sextant and geographical work, he might well 
hesitate long over the question whether he ought to return or go 
forward. He ultimately resolved to push on, and, having performed 
the last sad offices for his late fellow-traveller, started on July 2. 
His constant attention to Johnston during his illness, coupled with 
the anxieties consequent on the position he was thrown into, brought 
on a fever which for some days rendered him very unfit for travelling. 
Crossing the water-parting of the Lufiji and Kingani rivers, 
Burton's route was struck at Kirengue,or Kilengue, 1 where Thomson 
was so weak from his illness that he was obliged to rest three days. 
He was now approaching the country of the Wamahenge, a warlike 
race held in great dread by the surrounding population. One day 
the more forward of Thomson's porters rushed back in a scare, 
shouting " Wamahenge ! Wamahenge ! " By a display of courage 
and friendliness Thomson satisfied the warriors — they were returning 
from a fighting expedition— of his peaceful intentions, and received 

1 Whilst Burton uses the interchangeable letter r in preference to /in the 
native names, Thomson says he invariably heard the latter used. 



350 The Gentletnaris Magazine. 

on their part the assurance of their friendliness towards the white man. 
A fraternal compact was sealed in the characteristic African manner 
by Chuma drinking blood from the breast of the chiefs son, who did 
the same from Churaa's. The vegetation beyond Kirengue became 
charming, quite a contrast to that passed through before Behobeho. 
The undulating ground had been cut by the rains of the wet season 
into deep narrow glens, which had become clothed with a rich 
tropical flora. The banks of the streams were adorned with creepers, 
palms, mparmusi, and other trees of varied tint and form growing in 
profusion. On the tops of the ridges, however, owing to the porous 
soil, everything green was shrivelled up, even to the trees, under the 
fierce sun. " A porous surface stratum in Africa has always this 
result ; if the surface is not damp and marshy, it becomes a desert" 

Turning to the south-west from Mgunda, the chief town of 
Khutu, Thomson struck the Ruaha, one of the two rivers which 
united form the Rufiji, in about 37 E. longitude (July 21). Its 
breadth was then about 150 yards, with a depth varying from two to 
nine feet. Rapids and rocky impediments render it utterly im- 
practicable for canoe navigation. Here a little folding-boat, which 
had been carried all the way by two men, was brought into requisi- 
tion, and conveyed the men and bales across the river without the 
damage or loss of a single article. They had now entered MTienge. 
On arriving at Mkomokero, the chief town, the chief would not hear 
of Thomson's proceeding without a delay of a few days, in order 
that his people might see him, no white man having been there 
before. Thomson took advantage of the stoppage to visit the 
Uranga, the river which joins the Ruaha lower down. This river was 
found to be very deep, and to have a slow current, and it appeared 
to be navigable for the largest river boats. Thomson had great diffi- 
culty in obtaining guides here, and it was only after giving the chief 
two barrels of gunpowder that he succeeded in getting two guides. 
With these he recommenced his march on August 1, but he had not 
proceeded many stages before they deserted, and it afterwards turned 
out that they did not know the rest of the way. A few marches 
farther brought Thomson into the Uhehe country, on the great 
plateau of Eastern and Central Africa. For several days he passed 
through a sparsely inhabited country, and had great difficulty in 
procuring sufficient food for his men. The Ruaha was again creased 
in safety, and a south-westerly course was taken to Mkubwasanga, 
the town of the head chief of Uhehe. 

At Mkubwasanga Thomson had reached the longitude of the 
northern extremity of Lake Nyassa, and from here a few marches in 



• 1 



A Successful African Journey. 3^ 

a southward direction brought him to the completion of the first part 
of his mission. On September 22 he looked down from the edge of 
the elevated table land upon the waters of Nyassa, 4,000 feet below 
him, stretching away into the southern distance. He reached its 
shore at a point about six miles east of Mbungo, " without accident 
of any kind," as he wrote home, " and in excellent condition in all 
respects." The Konde or Livingstone Mountains, 1 reported by 
Lieutenant Young to enclose the lake at its northern end, appear to 
be the escarpment of the high plateau across which the latter part of 
Thomson's route lay. " From lat. 8° 50' SL," Thomson writes, "the 
country suddenly rises from an altitude of about 3,500 to 7,000 feet, 
and a few miles farther south to 8,000 and 9,000, representing the 
general level of an old plateau, now much cut up by numerous 
streams into narrow valleys of great depth. This height extends all 
the way to Lake Nyassa. No higher altitude on our route was 
observed, and tile highest point reached was 8,116 (bar.). No con- 
spicuous mountain was seen, and the Konde Mountains are a range 
I could not discover. The structure of this plateau is of soft clay- 
slate till near Nyassa, where the rocks become volcanic." 

The travellers rested here a few days, and they then rounded the 
north-west corner of the lake, crossing a large stream in canoes. 
Thomson was here enabled to send home letters by way of Living- 
stonia, and then set out to reach the south end of Tanganyika. This 
journey does not appear to have presented any special difficulties. 
The route lay across the elevated plateau of that part of Africa which 
varies from a height of 3,300 feet above the sea in Konde, the country 
bordering on Nyassa, to 6,500 feet in Nyika. Lake Tanganyika was 
reached on November 4, and Thomson was thus able to settle the 
vexed question of the distance between the two lakes. This he found 
to be only about 250 miles, thus bringing the two great water highways 
within a practicable limit of communication. On Nov. 5 Thomson 
arrived at Pambete, a village at the southern extremity of Tanganyika 
which had already been visited by Livingstone and Stanley. Here, 
on the very afternoon of his arrival, Thomson, to his great surprise 
and delight, was joined by a fellow-countryman, Mr. James Stewart, 
C.E., of the Livingstonia Mission on Lake Nyassa, who, by a singular 
coincidence, had simultaneously traversed the belt of land intervening 
between the lakes. Stewart had reached Pambete by a route a little 
to the south of that taken by Thomson, and one much more favour- 
able for portage. He started from the Kambwe Lagoon, 20 or 30 
miles south-west of the point where Thomson left Nyassa, on 

1 See GentlematCs Magazine^ October 1877, article "Livingstonia," 



352 



The Gentleman's Magazine. 




A Successful African yourney. 353 

Oct 14, and reached the shore of Tangantyika, at the extremity of its 
most easterly bay, on November 4, thus completing the journey in a 
shorter time than Thomson. He describes his route as very practi- 
cable for the construction of a road. The highest elevation reached 
was 5,400 feet as Tanganyika was approached, but the rise was gradual, 
and throughout the whole of the route there was not one difficult 
ascent The distance from lake to lake was found to be 243 miles, 
Pambete being 11 miles farther. The climate is described as cool 
and bracing ; the rainfall is large, and water plentiful even in the dry 
weather* Cattle were found in almost every village — an evidence of the 
absence of the destructive tsetse fly, and sheep and goats were kept 
in large numbers. Whilst the two travellers were together, observa- 
tions were taken to settle the longitude of Pambete, which has an 
important bearing on our present geographical knowledge of this 
portion of inner Africa. Both travellers agree as to the evidence of 
a periodical rise of the water of Lake Tanganyika. 

Thomson had now completed the task which had been set him, 
but now that he was on Tanganyika he was overcome by a desire to 
see somewhat more of it, and especially to visit the Lukuga River 
arid solve the mystery about the outlet of the lake. So, instead of 
At once returning, he decided on a journey around the western shore 
of the lake* All accounts agreed that it would be quite impossible 
for him to take his caravan along this route, owing to the difficulties 
of the mountains ; but this was no obstacle to his project Leaving 
Pambete on November io, the same day as Stewart departed on his 
return journey to Nyassa, he found at Iendwe, near the mouth of the 
Lofu River, a suitable place to leave his men encamped during his 
absence. Then leaving Chuma in charge, he started on his march, 
taking only thirty porters and a supply of absolute necessaries. They 
walked along the edge of the lake where they were able to do 
so, and frequently had splendid views of the opposite shore, which, 
thirty miles off, stood out as sharply and as well defined as if only 
a few miles away, revealing every notch and valley with their varied 
tints and shades. North of the Lofu River he had to pass through 
Itawa, at the capital of which an unpleasant incident occurred that 
fortunately, however, did not lead to any serious consequences. 
Thomson entered the town in advance of his men, and was surprised 
to find the male population in a state of great excitement ; whilst 
he was inside taking shelter from the rain, they barricaded the gate 
and prevented his men from coming in. Thomson put a good face 
oit the matter, and after some trouble got outside. He then sent 
messengers to the chief, inquiring the meaning of such a strange 

VOL. CCL. NO. 1803. A A »• 



354 The GentlematCs Magazine. 

reception, and by dint of considerable negotiation succeeded in 
bringing the affair to an amicable conclusion. The action of the 
natives was, it appears, instigated by motives of fear and self-protec- 
tion. They had some time previously experienced treacherous con- 
duct on the part of an Arab, who, introducing himself in a friendly 
way into the town, took possession of it To prevent a recurrence of 
such treacherous conduct, no caravan had since been allowed to enter 
without first sending due notice. A large present did not suffice 
to put the chief in a good humour, and it was with difficulty that a 
guide was obtained to take the party farther on its onward march. 

The physical difficulties of the route proved very great, exceeding 
any that had been encountered all the way from Dar-es-Salaam. 
There was not a mile of level ground, but hills followed hills, all of 
the most precipitous nature, varied only here and there by some 
lower ridge. Seldom was camp reached until long after midday, 
though they started with the sun in the morning ; the portable boat, 
which had been brought in expectation of meeting with unfordable 
streams, proved itself an intolerable burden, and more than once 
Thomson was only dissuaded from destroying it by the entreaties of 
the men themselves. The population beyond Itawa was very sparse, 
and the natives met with were generally unfriendly, though Thomson's 
tact and temper almost always succeeded in obtaining their hospi- 
tality. The troubles and difficulties of the march, however, at last 
brought their reward. On Christmas day Thomson saw the Lukuga 
" as a noble river flowing with rapid movement and whirling eddy 
away to the far west, unchecked by sandbars or papyrus, and requir- 
ing no experiments with straws or other objects to ascertain the 
existence of a current." This Lukuga river had been first seen by 
Commander Cameron, who in 1874 made a voyage from Ujiji 
round the southern portion of the lake with the object of ascertaining 
its outlet. He found the entrance more than a mile across, but 
closed by a grass-grown sandbank, with the exception of a channel 
300 or 400 yards wide, across which there was a sill where the surf 
broke heavily at times, although there was more than a fathom of 
water over its shallowest part. The next day he followed the river 
for three or four miles, until navigation was found to be impossible 
in consequence of the masses of floating vegetation. The current 
was flowing from the lake. This seemed to settle the question until 
Stanley in 1876 sent home the puzzling report of his visit to the 
river. Stanley went a considerable distance beyond Cameron's 
farthest point, and he very decidedly states that the Lukuga is not 
an outlet but an affluent of the lake. The current then was exceeg* 



A Successful African Journey. 355 

ingly slight, for it required some ingenious experiments on Stanley's 
part to satisfy him that the current was towards the lake. He has 
formulated a curious theory to the effect that the bed of the lake, 
which had been formed by some great earthquake, was not yet filled 
with water, that it would very soon begin to overflow, and that some 
traveller coming after might find the barrier in the Lukuga broken 
down and the water of the lake emptying itself through it into the 
Lualaba. Another contribution towards the solution of this problem 
has been made by Mr. E. C. Hore, of the London Missionary 
Society's Mission at Ujiji, who visited the Lukuga about seven or eight 
months before Thomson reached it. He found the river to have an 
outward flow, with a rapid current, and remarks : " As the river 
narrowed we found ourselves rapidly swept in (one requires to be 
rather lively here), and made the boat fast alongside, about one 
mile inside." At Stanley's farthest point the rapids were found to 
be too dangerous to venture farther with the canoe, so with a couple 
of natives Mr. Hore walked on to the Kiyanja ridge, from the top of 
which he saw the Lukuga " flowing far into Urua." 

Thomson therefore found himself forestalled in the solution of 
the Lukuga mystery. His experience was very similar to that of 
Mr. Hore. Obtaining a canoe at a village called Manda, he pro- 
ceeded to examine the barrier laid down in Stanley's map. The 
current was so strong that he had to keep close to the side, and at 
one or two places where the river narrowed it was with the greatest 
difficulty that the canoe could be kept in command. At the place 
where Stanley found a barrier the river, narrowed to about half its 
breadth, now rushed through "with all the force and noise of a 
mountain torrent, utterly impassable for canoe or boat of any descrip- 
tion." The following day Thomson returned and was hospitably 
received at Kasenge by the missionaries of the London Missionary 
Society's Station. He then paid a short visit to Ujiji on the east 
side of the lake, where a similar reception awaited him, preparatory to 
a more extended examination of the Lukuga, from which he intended 
returning to Iendwe by way of Kabuire. In this undertaking, how- 
ever, the young traveller was foiled by insuperable obstacles. From 
the very first he had great difficulties with his men, as they believed 
he was taking them to Manyuema, where they would be eaten up. 
They tried every means in their power to throw obstacles in his way 
and retard his movements, two of them deserting near Meketo, and 
the others threatening to do the me. For six days he continued 
his course along the Lukuga in s t > but he 1 

then obliged to give in. The Lul 



356 The Gentletnaris Magazine. 

tion to that place, and then about west into the great westerly bend 
of the Congo, all the way through a most charming valley, with hills 
rising from 600 to 2,000 feet in height above the lake. The current 
is extremely rapid, and quite unnavigable for boats or canoes of any 
description, owing to the rapids and rocks." 

" From Makalumbi," he writes in a letter to Dr. Kirk, " I crossed 
the Lukuga into Urua, and struck south-west for the town of Kiyombo, 
who is the chief of all the Warua on the eastern side of the Congo. 
I found, however, I had only escaped from difficulties with my men 
to fall into ten times worse ones with the Warua. They turned out 
to be the most outrageous scoundrels and thieves I had yet met. 
It is utterly impossible to convey to you the miserable life we led 
during the five weeks we were in their country. They had not the 
slightest acquaintance with traders, and they had no respect for the 
white man. The chiefs demanded exorbitant Mhongo, and made us 
stop wherever they took the fancy ; the people were by no means 
loth to help themselves by tearing the clothes off the backs of the men, 
even in crowds. Several times they turned out to fight us. Arrows 
and spears have been aimed at me within a few feet For rudeness 
and insolence they are unparalleled. They would come and tear open 
my tent-door to look at me, until I had to give it up altogether. 
They generally became worst at night, besieging us in our huts ; and 
several times we had to sit up all night, with howling hundreds around 
us ready to fight or fly. At one village a crowd had got hold of one of my 
men, and I only forced my way in just in time to deflect a descending 
axe which would have ended his days. And yet we had to show 
ourselves firm as well as pacific. The slightest accident or blood 
drawn, and not a soul of us would have escaped. They seemed just 
to thirst for our blood, but still they were afraid to attack us in case 
Kiyombo might be displeased. 

" At last we reached the big chiefs, and within about ten days of 
Iendwe, and there, after being kept a week, we were informed, to our 
immense disappointment, that we could not be allowed to pass, as 
they were at war with the country in front, and, to make matters worse, 
we were further directed to return exactly the same way we came. And 
back we had to go ; and what a time we had of it ! How we ever 
escaped with our lives I cannot comprehend. Imagine being 
awakened in the dead of night in your tent by your blanket being 
torn from under you, just in time to catch hold of your azimuth 
compass, and to find your watch gone. Such was one of my night's 
adventures. Fortunately, they got frightened at the watch, and the 
chief brought it back next day. The chief took an immense fancy for 



A Successful African Journey. 357 

all my personal articles — clothes, cups, blankets, &c, and would have 
left me with only what I had on my back if I had not had a few things 
hidden away. To have seen me in camp you would have thought I 
had not an article but a bare tent and a blanketless camp-bedstead." 
It was not without an intense feeling of delight and relief that the 
Lukuga was crossed once more. At Mtowa, the L.M.S. station on 
the western side of Tanganyika, he learnt that Mr. Hore was expected 
every day on his way by canoe to the south end of the lake. So he 
dismissed a large number of his native followers direct to Zanzibar 
and awaited Mr. Hore's arrival Then, on March 23, 1880, they 
started together, and three days later landed at Karema, on the 
eastern side of the lake, where a station had been established by the 
Belgian International Association. Here they were joyously hailed 
by Captain Carter, who awaited them on the shore. With him they 
went over to pay a visit to the mission, the Indian elephant which 
had been brought up from the coast being ready to take them across 
the marsh. According to Thomson's account this locality appears 
to have been by no means well chosen — " a wide expanse of marsh, 
a small village, no shelter for boats, only shallow water dotted with 
stumps of trees, no food to be got and natives hostile, far from any 
line of trade." In that out-of-the-way part of the wilds of Africa 
the gathering of civilised men was a singular one. " At table there 
sat down an Englishman, an Irishman, a Scotchman, a Frenchman, 
a Belgian, and a German, representing five expeditions ; and you 
will doubtless be pleased to learn," Thomson writes, with pardonable 
pride, in the letter already quoted, " that of all these (thanks to 
yourself), the Scotchman, though the smallest, and having to travel 
through entirely new country, has been the most successful of all. 
During the meal we were transported back to the streets of London 
on being favoured with a few operatic selections by Debaize's 1,200 
franc hurdy-gurdy. Thereafter each one ransacked his memory and 
imagination — especially the latter — in producing the most wonderful 
adventures with the wild animal or the savage native. As evening 
approached, the elephant once more made her salaams to us, and 
mounting her back we bade adieu to the Belgians, and returned 
greatly impressed with such a curious meeting in such an out-of-the- 
way place." The sad death of two of the members of the Belgian 
mission, Captain Carter and Mr. Cadenhead, within three months 
of this pleasant meeting, will be remembered. They were killed in 
an attack made by Mirambo, the powerful chief of Unyamuesi, on 
the village of Mpimbwe, where they.were delayed whilst on a journey 
to the coast. No blame appears to attach to Mirambo for this 



358 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

unfortunate occurrence, for the chief was not aware of the presence 
of the white men in the village when he commenced the assault, 
being himself in the rear of his troops ; and when he was made 
acquainted with the fact, it was too late. 

After leaving Karema Thomson and Hore had a moderately 
good voyage across the lake to Iendwe, where everything was found 
in good order and the men in good health. Thomson had intended 
returning to the coast from here by way of Kilwa, so as to open up 
more unknown ground, but he now found that this route was im- 
passable. Merere, chief of the Urori, had recommenced his war 
with the Wahehe, and to pass from the one country to the other 
would be impossible. So he had to give that up, and to turn his 
face towards the well-known caravan route between Zanzibar and 
Ujiji. Still, the return march from Iendwe has not proved valueless. 
Passing round the south end of Tanganyika, along the shore, as far 
as the mouth of the Kilambo (Livingstone's Kalambo and Cameron's 
Kirumbwe), then striking about NNE. through Ulungu and Fipa, 
he reached, by easy ascents, the town of Kapufi, situated in lat 8° S. 
and long. z 2 ° 2 S' E. While at this place he had the good fortune to 
settle another of the moot points of Central African geography. 
For several years an unvisited lake has been figured in varied forms 
on our maps to the eastward of the southern portion of Tanganyika. 
This lake, Likwa, Hikwa, or Rukwa, as it has variously been called, 
was known only from hearsay. Thomson is the first traveller to 
speak of it from actual observation. He saw only a part of it, but 
from what he could gather, " it appears to be from 60 to 70 miles in 
length, and 15 to 20 in breadth. It lies two days east of Makapufi, 
in a deep depression of the Lambalamfipa mountains. A large river 
called the Mkafu, which rises in Kawendi, and which by its 
tributaries drains the greater part of Khonongo and Fipa and all 
Mpimbwe, falls into it. " I can almost say with certainty," Thomson 
writes, " that it has no outlet, certainly not any towards the west." 

The main caravan route to Tanganyika was struck at Kwihala 
(Kwihara), in Unyanyembe, the 300 miles from Iendwe having been 
accomplished in 30 days — quick work for African travel. As it was, 
Thomson and several of his men suffered in consequence from sore 
feet, and had to take a few days' rest at Unyanyembe. Then, says 
Thomson, "we recommenced our march and joyously pushed on for 
the coast. Going from 20 to 30 miles a day, we soon crossed the 
Mgunda Mkhali, ' the Fiery Field,' passed unmolested through Ugogo, 
heeded not the burning heats and hard marches of the Marenga 
utiei DiV/ua^thru.-.Qugh an( j s tony paths through the Usagara moun- 



A Successful African Journey. . 359 

tains, till at last, after a march of unprecedented speed, we sighted 
the Indian Ocean, and, reaching Bagamoyo, entered it with all the 
pomp of bloodless victory — not careworn and haggard, nor deci- 
mated by disease and hunger, but in the best of health and condition ; 
and there stood my gallant band of followers, proud of their achieve- 
ments, and thanking God they were not like other caravan porters 
who steal and plunder from their masters and desert them at the 
hour of need. I felt it to be my proudest boast that of that band of 
150 men which left Dar-es-Salaam, only one did not survive to see 
the Indian Ocean again ; and it will ever be a pleasure to me to 
think that, though often placed in critical positions, I never once 
required to fire a gun for either offensive or defensive purposes." 

This is the sort of man that is required to " open up " the Dark 
Continent His conduct stands in pleasing contrast to the filibuster- 
ing work of Stanley ; and it cannot be said of the energetic young 
Scotchman that, instead of opening the door to civilisation and trade, 
he has made it more difficult for those who come after. His proud 
boast that only one of his porters had died during the march is a 
much nobler one than the American traveller's tale of the number of 
natives that his elephant rifle was able to bring down. With the 
exception of the early death of the accomplished companion with 
whom he commenced the journey, Thomson's expedition has been a 
remarkably successful one. In the comparatively short tiitfe he was 
on African soil — scarcely 14 months — he has accomplished excellent 
work, and it is greatly to his credit that, in spite of the unfortunate 
loss of the leader of the expedition, he allowed nothing to daunt 
him, and that his own youth and inexperience were not allowed to 
stand in the way of the successful accomplishment of his under- 
taking. He is, indeed, a worthy follower of Burton and Speke, 
Livingstone and Cameron. His arduous work in the conduct of his 
caravan did not allow him much opportunity of bringing home any 
extensive collections in natural history, but he was still able to 
gather a few plants and shells by the wayside, which will doubtless 
prove both interesting and valuable. Whether the route by which 
he reached the lakes is likely to prove of service as a commercial 
highway to the regions which border on those inland waters is 
doubtful, especially with regard to Nyassa. It would appear that 
from the countries round Nyassa the most practicable outlet would 
be by way of the Shire and Zambesi rivers, 1 where a short land 
portage of about 70 miles only intervenes to prevent a complete 
waterway to the outer world. Probably this route also may be used 
1 See map in Gentleman 's Magazine, October, 1877, article " Livingstonia." 



360 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

to reach the southern portion of Tanganyika, where a comparatively 
easy road, shortened probably to about 210 miles, can be made to 
unite the two lakes. But however this may be, Joseph Thomson 
has added materially to our knowledge of the regions he has passed 
through so honourably and so successfully, and his journey cannot be 
denied a place amongst successful African expeditions. 

FREDERICK A. EDWARDS. 



361 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 

THOMAS CARLYLE, who died full of years and of honours on 
Saturday morning, February 5, at the house in Cheyne-row, 
Chelsea, where he had resided for nearly forty-seven years, was bora 
at Ecclefechan, in Dumfriesshire, on Tuesday, December 4, 1795, 
and had consequently overpassed by fully two months the ripe age of 
eighty-five years on the day of his death. 

Carlyle's father was a master mason at Ecclefechan ; a man of 
simple, thrifty, and pious life, of great force of character, robust habit 
of mind, and natural wit and shrewdness. 

After a course of study at Edinburgh University, Carlyle, scrupling 
to enter the ministry, as his father had at first desired, was appointed 
to the conduct of a school at KirkcaJdy in Fifeshire, where his 
college friend Edward Irving was already established, and where he 
remained from 181 6 to 181 8. His friendship with Irving, com- 
menced at, the University (and one of the most memorable influences 
of his earlier life), was here consolidated. 

A parallel might be drawn between Carlyle at Kirkcaldy and 
Johnson at Edial, though to the advantage of the former; for it 
seems, from all credible tradition and report, that Carlyle, who was by 
no means sparing of the rod, had, before he left, quite reinstated the 
Burgh School to its old position, from which it had sadly dwindled 
and fallen through the incompetence and imbecility of a former 
master. In 1818 Edward Irving instituted at Edinburgh a small 
society, consisting only of seven or eight members, called the Philo- 
sophical Association, of whom he himself was one and Thomas 
Carlyle another. Some teachers of local eminence and licentiates of 
the Church made up the number. But the Philosophical Association 
is defunct ; and the early sentiments of Carlyle and Irving are as 
entirely lost as are those of their less distinguished colleagues. 
"Carlyle," writes Irving to a friend in 18 19, "goes away to-morrow. 
.... It is very odd, indeed, that he should be sent for want of 
employment to the country ; of course, like every man of talent, he 
has gathered around this Patmos many a splendid purpose to be 
fulfilled, and much improvement to be wrought out : 'I have the 



362 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

ends of my thoughts to bring together, which no one can do in this 
thoughtless scene. I have my views of life to reform, and the whole 
plan of my conduct to new-model ; and I have my health to recover. 
And then once more I shall venture my bark upon the waters of this 
realm, and if she cannot weather it, I shall steer west, and try the 
waters of another world.' So he reasons and resolves ; but surely a 
worthier destiny awaits him than voluntary exile." 1 The earliest 
known authorship of Mr. Carlyle was in 1820 and the three following 
years, when he contributed sixteen articles to " Brewster's Edinburgh 
Encyclopaedia," including papers on Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, 
Montaigne, Montesquieu, Montfaucon, Dr. Moore, Sir John Moore, 
Necker, Nelson, Netherlands, Newfoundland, Norfolk, Northampton- 
shire, Northumberland, Mungo Park, and on the elder and younger 
Pitt During this period he also contributed two papers, one on 
Joanna Baillie's "Metrical Legends," and the other on Goethe's 
" Faust," to the New Edinburgh Review, a brief-lived quarterly which 
commenced its career in July 182 1, and ceased to exist with the 
completion of its fourth volume in April 1823. In 1822 Carlyle 
executed a translation from the French (not published till two years 
later) of Legendre's " Elements of Geometry," and I recollect his 
telling me in December 1868, with some evident pride and pleasure 
in the thought, that he considered the Introductory Chapter on 
Proportion, prefixed to that book, to be still the clearest and best 
exposition of the subject that had yet appeared — a remark partly con- 
firmed by so excellent an authority as the late Mr. De Morgan. 

More congenial work, however, he must have considered the 
account of " Schiller's Life and Writings," contributed to the London 
Magazine (then in the hey-day of its glory, with a most brilliant roll-call 
of contributors) partly in 1823 and partly in 1824. It was separately 
published as a volume in 1825, and may be considered as Carlyle's first 
original work. Like his earlier contributions to the " Encyclopaedia," 
it bears hardly any traces of his later style. Many years afterwards (so 
recently as 1872) he added to it for the first time in the Popular Edi- 
tion a beautiful supplement (outweighing tenfold in value the original 
work) relating to Schiller's sisters, and of which the particulars were 
derived from a then newly published book by a certain Hen Saupe. 

In 1823 Carlyle accepted the post of tutor to Mr. Charles Buller, 
and from this connexion there sprang a life-long friendship. When 
Bullets brief and brilliant career was terminated by death in 1848, 
Carlyle wrote a beautiful tribute to his memory, which appeared in the 
Examiner— in which journal and in the Spectator, earlier in die same 

1 Mrs. Oliphant's Lift of Edward Irving (Lond. 1862), vol. i. pp.- 9<V9l. 



Thomas Carlyle. 363 

year, appeared all I have been able hitherto to trace of his fugi- 
tive political contributions to journalism. These consisted of a 
paper on the fall of Louis Philippe, and of a series of papers on Irish 
questions, which he once told me were reprinted by Childs of 
Bungay as halfpenny pamphlets for distribution ; though I have 
never yet met with them in that form. He, however, added that these 
" newspaper things " (as he contemptuously called them) were " but 
a fraction {proper fraction, perhaps) of the large mass which lies safe 
in the whale's belly still ! " 

But I am anticipating. I return to the time when his temporary 
tutorship to Charles Buller ceased, and when he returned to Edin- 
burgh. From 1824 to 1827 Carlyle was mainly occupied with trans- 
lations from Goethe and other modern German romance-writers. His 
translation of "Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre" (or Apprenticeship) 
appeared at Edinburgh in three volumes in the former year, and 
first made that great masterpiece of Goethe known to English 
readers. It was followed in 1827 by a work in four volumes, entitled 
" German Romance : Specimens of its Chief Authors, with Bio- 
graphical and Critical Notices." The fourth vfilume consisted of a 
translation of "Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre," then newly published. 
The " Biographical and Critical Notices w are included in Carlyle's 
collected Works, as are also the translations from Tieck, Musaus, and 
Richter ; but the specimens from Hoffmann and La Motte Fouqu^ have 
never been reprinted since their first appearance — being left, to use 
Carlyle's expressive phrase respecting them thirty years later, " afloat 
or stranded, as waste driftwood, to those whom they may farther con- 
cern " — and they give a special interest and value to the original edition 
of " German Romance," which is not now easily procurable. 

In the mean time, in 1826, Carlyle had taken to himself a wife in 
the person of a former pupil of his friend Irving — Miss Jane Welsh, 
the daughter of Dr. Welsh of Haddington, a lineal descendant of 
John Welsh of Kirkcudbright, the son-in-law of John Knox the 
Reformer. She proved worthy (as it fortunately happened) to be the 
wife and helpmate of such a man, and after forty years of married 
life, when she was "suddenly snatched away from him," in April 1866, 
during his absence in Scotland, he was able not only to pay a tribute 
to her " clearness of discernment and noble loyalty of heart," but em- 
phatically to add his testimony that for " forty years she was the true 
and loving helpmate of her husband, and by act and word unweariedly 
forwarded him, as none else could, in all- of worthy that he did or 
attempted." Of how few of the wives of our greatest men of letters 
could the like words be used with any approach to propriety or truth ! 



364 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

Carlyle settled with his wife at the lonely farm of Craigenputtoch, 
which he has described so graphically in one of his letters to Goethe. 
It was fifteen miles to the north-west of Dumfries, among the granite 
hills and the black morasses which stretch westwards through 
Galloway, almost to the Irish Sea. " In this wilderness of heath 
and rock," he writes to the great German poet, " our estate stands 
forth a green oasis — a tract of ploughed, partly enclosed and planted 
ground, where corn ripens and trees afford a shade, although 
surrounded by sea-mews and rough-woolled sheep. Here, with no 
small effort, have we built and furnished a neat, substantial mansion ; 
here, in the absence of a professional or other office, we live to 
cultivate literature with diligence, and in our own peculiar way. 
Two ponies, which cany us everywhere, and the mountain air, are 
the best medicines for weak nerves. This daily exercise is my only 
dissipation ; for this nook of ours is the loneliest in Britain — six miles 
removed from every one who in any case might visit me." 

Here in 1831 his first great original work, "Sartor Resartus," 
was written ; but it was long before a publisher could be found for 
it. At last, in 1 833-1 834, it did come out gradually, piecemeal, in 
the pages of Eraser's Magazine, to which Carlyle had by that time 
become a frequent contributor ; but it was not until 1838, seven years 
after its composition, that it appeared in England as a separate 
book. It was during these years of seclusion at Craigenputtoch that 
the brilliant series of essays contributed to the Edinburgh, Westmin- 
ster, and Foreign Reviews were also mainly produced. 

In the early days of 1832, during his temporary absence in Lon- 
don, on a memorable visit respecting this very business of finding a 
publisher for " Sartor," Carlyle lost his father, who had attained the 
ripe age of seventy-four. Carlyle's allusions to him in after life were 
always couched in terms of the most affectionate reverence ; and his 
lament, while the grief was still a fresh one, is expressed with a 
tenderness, a force, and a simplicity perhaps never surpassed. 
"The venerated friend," he writes to Mr. Macvey Napier, under 
date London, February 6, 1832, "that bade me farewell cannot 
welcome me when I come back. / have now no father in this land of 
shadows" The only lament over a beloved father by a distinguished 
son at all comparable to this for its infinite pathos and tenderness 
is perhaps the closing stanza of Mr. Swinburne's In/eriae. 1 

In 1833 the lonely scholar was visited in his seclusion by a 
hardly less notable American writer. In his English Traits Mr. 
Emerson has given a graphic record of this memorable meeting and 

1 Poems and Ballads, Second Series, p. 109. 



Thomas Carlyle. 365 

of the conversation that took place. A life-long friendship sprang 
up between these two remarkable men, thus strangely brought 
together in that remote part of our island ; and when in 1841 
Emerson's " Essays " were brought out in an English edition, Carlyle 
wrote an introductory preface to them, which is one of the most 
important of his minor and scattered writings. 

It was in the following year (1834) that Carlyle finally and 
permanently settled himself in London, and fixed his abode at the 
house in Chelsea where he continued to reside until his death. " We 
have broken up our old settlement," he writes to Sir William 
Hamilton (dating his letter 5 Great Cheyne Row, Chelsea, 8th July, 
1834), " and, after tumult enough, formed a new one here, under the 
most opposite conditions. From the ever-silent whinstones of Niths- 
dale to the mud-rattling pavements of Piccadilly there is but a step. 
I feel it the strangest transition, but one uses himself to alL . . . 
The house pleases us much ; it is in the remnant of genuine old 
Dutch-looking Chelsea ; looks out mainly into trees. We might see, 
at half a mile's distance, Bolingbroke's Battersea, could shoot a gun 
into Smollett's old house, where he wrote ' Count Fathom,' and was 
wont every Saturday to dine a company of hungry authors, and then 
set them fighting together. Don Saltero's coffee-house still looks as 
brisk as in Steele's time ; Nell Gwynn's boudoir, still bearing her 
name, has become a gin-temple, not inappropriately ; in fine, Erasmus 
lodged with More (they say) in a spot not five hundred yards from 
this. We are encompassed with a cloud of witnesses, good, bad, 
indifferent" 

Here he wrote the brilliant succession of works which have 
made his name world-famous: "The French Revolution" ^1837/, 
" Chartism " (1840), " Past and Present " (1843), " Oliver Cromwell's 
Letters and Speeches with Elucidations'* (1845), "Latter Day 
Pamphlets" (1850), "Life of John Sterling" f 185 1), and last, but 
not least, the " History of Frederick the Great" ( 1858-65). 

In the " Life of John Sterling," which, if it does not outlive his 
more laboured historical works, will doubtless have tenfold the 
number of readers, he has embalmed the memory and the name of 
one who, with all his graces and gifts, would ere now have been 
otherwise forgotten. Sterling's novel of "Arthur Contngsby," hh 
tragedy of u Strafford," and his two volumes of verse, have ceased to 
be read by any but a few literary students and specialists here and 
there, but he lives in Carlyle's book (perhaps on the whole the most 
loving record ever written by one man of another, unless we except 
" In Memoriam ") for many generations to come. 



366 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

For four successive seasons, commencing 1837 and ending 1840, 
Carlyle appeared as a lecturer, and delivered four different courses 
of lectures to various London audiences. The first course, in the 
summer of 1837, consisted of a series of six lectures on "German 
Literature " delivered at Willis's Rooms. The second course was a 
series of twelve lectures "On the History of Literature, or the 
Successive Periods of European Culture," delivered in April, May, 
and June of 1838 at the lecture-room, 17 Edward Street, Portman 
Square. The third course, delivered in 1839, was on "The Revo- 
lutions of Modern Europe," and the fourth and last, " On Heroes, 
Hero Worship, and the Heroic in History," was delivered in 1840. 
The last-named course alone has been published, and after that 
Carlyle never appeared again as a lecturer. . 

His only other public appearances as a speaker were very few / 
and far between. The first was at a public banquet given to Allan k 
Cunningham at Dumfries in the summer of 1831. There Carlyle .* 
made a genial speech in praise of his friend and fellow-countryman, 
duly reported in the Scottish newspapers of the time, and reproduced 
by the Rev. David Hogg in his recent Life of Allan Cunningham. 
At a meeting held at the Freemasons' Tavern on June 24, 1840, 
with the view of founding the " London Library," with which his 
name has since been so honourably associated, Carlyle made a 
forcible and somewhat lengthy speech, a full record of which will be 
found in the following number of the Examiner. His next and * 
most notable appearance was as Lord Rector of the University of v 
Edinburgh, when he delivered his memorable address to the students j 
on April 2, 1866. It was while absent in Scotland on this mission \ 
that his wife — the faithful companion of forty years —whom he had j 
left behind at Chelsea, was " suddenly snatched away from him." 
For some time he was quite stunned by the unexpected blow, but 
he rallied after a while and took heart and courage for further efforts 
of usefulness in his time and place, and survived her for nearly t 
fifteen years, although " the light of his life," as he pathetically wrote, { 
"was as if gone out." In spite of this overwhelming calamity, Carlyle * 
" though much averse at any time, and at this time in particular, tcj 
figure on committees, or run into public noises without call," felt 1/ 
to be his duty as a British citizen not only to join the committee fcf 
the defence of Governor Eyre, when the celebrated Jamaica busine; 
made so much stir in August 1866, and to write an eloquent let* 
on his behalf, but also to preside and speak at the meetings of 1 
Committee held in that and the following month. These were I 
]ast public appearances a$ a speaker. With all his unceasing actf 



Thomas Carlyle. 367 

for more than half a century (as long as health and strength 
remained) as a writer of books, he was also one of the most prolific, 
and certainly one of the best and most graphic of letter-writers. 
Scores of admirable letters of his, full of humour, wisdom, and 
pathos — addressed to Thomas De Quincey, Professor Wilson, Mr. 
Macvey Napier, Sir William Hamilton, Thomas Aird, Dr. Chalmers, 
Walter Savage Landor, Charles Dickens, Barry Cornwall, Thomas 
Cooper, Sydney Dobell, William Henry Brookfield, Alexander 
Gilchrist, Sir William Napier, Robert Story, Sir George Sinclair, 
Henry fothergill Chorley, Thomas Erskine of Linlathen, and others^- 
lie buried in the memoirs of those worthies, and hundreds of others 
thaHiave never yet seen the light still exist, addressed to famous 
persons and to persons unknown to fame, to the dead and to 
the living. Emerson told Mr. Searle in 1848 that he had long 
been in correspondence with Carlyle, and that he had some letters 
from him which would prove of the very highest importance here- 
after. 1 I have been informed too, on excellent authority, that our 
greatest living writer on art, who for the last twenty years has been 
an ardent disciple of Carlyle, and has sat at his feet as a Gamaliel, 
maintained for several years a constant correspondence with him, 
which has, without doubt, been preserved. Should a general collection 
of such letters ever be made public, as in the case of Charles Dickens, 
it will be a book of priceless value and of unusually great and varied 
interest. It is a curious circumstance, and characteristic of the deep 
and noble humanity of his nature, that among the most beautiful of 
these scattered letters that have hitherto come to light are the letters 
of condolence and sympathy on the death of some dear and loved 
one, both before and after the solemn event that darkened and 
saddened the last fourteen years of his pilgrimage. His kindness in 
clearing the difficulties and solving the doubts of correspondents 
entirely unknown either to him or to fame, and in extending to them 
a prompt and appropriate word of advice, encouragement, warning, 
or sympathy (whenever he had reason to believe their communications 
were frankly, loyally, and genuinely made), was boundless. The 
present writer has a lively and grateful recollection of the first letter 
he received from him, after years of silent admiration and reverence 
from afar off; of the visit which he afterwards made, by express 
invitation and appointment, to the well-known house in Cheyne Row, 
of the kind and gracious reception he met with, and the deep joy 
and gratitude that dwelt in his heart for a long time afterwards, like 
that of a lover accepted after long delays. The letter was in acknow* 

* Emerson 1 his Life and Writing* % by January Searle (Loud, 1855), p, 47, 



368 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

ledgment of the twin volumes of William Blake's " Songs of Inno- 
cence " and " Poetical Sketches," then recently published by the late 
Basil Montagu Pickering, and the editing of which formed almost 
his first literary work of any permanent importance. " I have 
received," wrote Carlyle (under date December i, 1868), "your 
pretty pair of Blake volumes, towards which you have done surely 
the part of a faithful editor. I feel much obliged by that and by 
many other proofs of your constant goodwill to me. . . . Thursday 
afternoon, about 3 p.m., if you appear here, I shall be going out to 
walk ; will take you with me a part of the way, and hear what you 
have to say about all that . . . ." (referring to a matter of some 
importance, then, to myself, on which I had consulted him). 

Never shall I forget that memorable Thursday afternoon, or the 
many other mornings, afternoons, and nights that followed during 
the next five years when I was privileged to walk with him and to 
hear his wonderful talk. And when through his failing health and 
strength this inestimable intercourse had to grow less frequent and 
gradually to cease, I "felt a want unknown before." Nor can I 
suppose that my experiences in this respect are unique or even 
peculiar. In addition to the hundreds and thousands of his distant 
readers and disciples in Britain, in America, in our colonies, and 
throughout the world, there must have been scores who during the 
long years of his London sojourn enjoyed the added charm of his 
personal presence and speech. His talk was indeed a marvel. It 
ranged over every subject and flowed on mostly in a quiet stream of 
mild wisdom, sometimes irradiated by flashes of humour and pauses 
of laughter (for he was a hearty and vigorous laugher), and sometimes 
bursting into stormy indignation at the madness and folly of the 
time. 

There is one night which is deeply burnt into my memory, when as 
I parted with him at his door, under the solemn stars, there came from 
him, as I was departing and as he mounted his steps, a final admonition 
pronounced in tones of awful adjuration that now seem to reverberate 
from the grave : " Work, now while it is called to-day, for the night 
cometh wherein no man can work." 

It was this deep and abiding sense of the earnestness and 
seriousness of human existence which constituted the most re- 
markable feature in his character, and which gives so sublime 
a pathos to the sacred and solemn utterance, " written as if in star- 
fire and immortal tears," some three or four years ago, when he felt 
that for him the supreme and inevitable hour must be drawing nigh, 
and which thrilled all who heard it when Dean Stanley first made it 



Thdmas CarlyU* 369 

public in the pulpit of Westminster Abbey on the day following his 
death. 

" ' Life is a serious thing,' as Schiller says," he writes, quoting 
the motto to his own book " Past and Present " in sending a copy 
of it to Thomas Cooper, "and as you yourself practically know. 
These are the words of a serious man about it" This deeply rooted 
and ever-present conviction explained much of the contempt for 
modern verse which he was never tired of proclaiming and 
reiterating in his published writings, in his letters, and in his conver- 
sation. 

Of the earlier portraits of him, three are specially interesting : first, 
the full-length sketch by " Croquis" (Daniel Maclise) which formed one 
of the Fraser Gallery of portraits, and was published in the magazine 
in June 1833. The original sketch of this is now deposited in the 
Forster Collection at South Kensington. The next is a sketch by 
Count D'Orsay, published by Mitchell in 1839. The third, which 
was the great author's own favourite among the early portraits, is a 
sketch by Samuel Lawrence, engraved in Home's " New Spirit of 
the Age," published in 1844. Since the art of photography came 
into vogue, a series of photographs of various degrees of merit and 
success have been executed by Messrs. Elliott and Fry, and by 
Watkins. The late Mrs. Cameron also produced a photograph of 
him in her peculiar style, but it was not so effective or successful 
as her fine portrait of Tennyson. An oil-painting by Mr. Watts 
exhibited some fifteen years ago, and now also forming part of 
the Forster Collection at South Kensington, is remarkable for its 
weird wildness ; but it gave great displeasure to the old philosopher 
himself— a displeasure which I once heard him express in no 
measured terms. More lately, we have a remarkable portrait by 
Legros and an admirable one by Mr. Whistler, who has seized the 
tout ensemble of his illustrious sitter's character and costume in a 
wonderful manner. The terra cotta statue by Mr. Boehm, exhibited 
at the Royal Academy in 1875, has received such merited meed of 
enthusiastic praise from Mr. Ruskin that it needs no added praise 
of ours. It has been excellently photographed from two points of 
view by Mr. Hedderly of Chelsea. 

One of the best and most effective of the many likenesses of Mr. 
Carlyle that appeared during the last decade of his life was a sketch 
by Mrs. Allingham— a picture as well as a portrait— representing the 
venerable philosopher in a long and picturesque dressing-gown, 
seated on a chair and poring over a folio, in the garden at the back 
of the quaint old house at Chelsea, which will henceforth, as long as 

VOL. CCL. NO. 1803. B B 



370 The Gentleman! s Magazine. 

m 

it stands, be associated with his memory. Beside him on the grass 
lies a long clay pipe (a churchwarden) which he has been smoking 
in the sweet morning air. So that altogether, as far as pictorial, 
graphic, and photographic art can go, the features, form, and bodily 
semblance of Carlyle will be as well known to future generations as 
they are to ourselves. And this, in his opinion (that is, the preserving 
of the features of the noble, the wise, the brave, and the good), was 
the only worthy and proper function of the painter's art. All the 
rest he looked on as mere dilettantism. 

The impression of his brilliant and eloquent talk, though it will 
probably remain, for at least half a century to come, more or less 
vivid to some of those of the new generation who were privileged to 
hear it, will, of course, gradually fade away. But it seems hardly 
probable that the rich legacy of his long roll of wri tings — historical, 
biographical, critical — can be regarded as other than a permanent one 
in which each succeeding generation will find fresh delight and 
instruction. The series of vivid pictures he has left behind in his 
" French Revolution," in his " Cromwell/' in his " Frederick," can 
hardly become obsolete or cease to be attractive ; nor is such power 
of word-painting likely soon to be equalled or ever to be surpassed. 
The salt of humour that savours nearly all he wrote (that lambent 
humour that lightens and plays over the grimmest and sternest of his 
pages) will also serve to keep his writings fresh and readable. Many 
of his dicta and opinions will doubtless be more and more called in 
question, especially in those of his works which are more directly of 
a didactic than a narrative character, and in regard to subjects which 
he was by habit, by mental constitution, and by that prejudice from 
which the greatest can never wholly free themselves, incapable of 
judging — such, for instance, as the scope and functions of painting 
and the fine arts generally, the value of modern poetry, or the 
working of Constitutional and Parliamentary institutions. 

RICHARD HERNE SHEPHERD. 



37i 



SCIENCE NOTES. 

Smokeless Fires and Gas Companies. 

IN my last month's note on Mr. Scott Moncrieff's project for 
supplying towns with smokeless fuel, I referred to the probable 
difficulty of withdrawing the coke, from which only one-third of the 
volatile constituents have been distilled Since that was written 
experiments have been made and this difficulty encountered. It 
appears to have been considerable ; but, as it is mechanical, it may 
be overcome by mechanical ingenuity. Mr. Moncrieff's original 
proposition was to extract only one-third of the gases and vapours. 
If one-half were taken the difficulty would be diminished, and the 
principle of his scheme might be still carried out, especially if 
combined with that of Dr. Siemens to the extent of using gas for 
lighting the fire and reviving it when desired. 

I have done what is equivalent to this by simply attaching one 
of Fletcher's solid-flame burners to a flexible tube and placing it 
under the grate of an open American stove in my study, using as 
fuel a mixture of coke and ordinary coaL It answers admirably. 
In five minutes the fire is fully lighted, and I can regulate it to the 
weather by using much, or little, or no gas afterwards. 

A holder of gas shares has objected to my strictures on the 
monopoly of the London gas companies. The answer to his and all 
other arguments that have been or may be used in defence of such 
companies is the simple fact that most of the great towns of the mid- 
land and northern counties of England have abolished the gas com- 
panies by purchasing their plant and monopoly rights at very high 
prices, and are now supplying themselves with far better and cheaper 
gas than they received from the gas companies, at the same time paying 
off both interest and principal of the money borrowed for the purchase. 
In many cases they make a considerable profit besides this, and are 
debating whether to use it in reduction of the local rates or to 
lower still further the price of gas. The latter seems to be generally 
preferred, and will be carried out as soon as additional plant is erected 
for supplying the additional demand that lower prices will create. 

As the by-products now pay for the gas at the works, its prime 

BB2 



372 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

cost when it reaches our houses being simply that of storing and 
conveying it to us ; the economising of reservoirs, mains, pipes, &c, is 
of primary importance. While we only use it for lighting purposes, 
these reservoirs, pipes, &c, are idle during the day ; but once the 
price of gas is lowered sufficiently to render it as cheap a fuel as coal, 
we shall keep these mains, &c, profitably at work all day long, to the 
great advantage of all concerned. This consummation is so de- 
voutly to be desired, that, if the London gas companies attain it 
sooner than it is reached by the gas-making corporations of the 
Midland and the North, nobody will desire them to be superseded. 
But if, on the other hand, the system of great towns co-operating to 
supply themselves with their own gas continues to prove its supe- 
riority to the present London system, it is not likely that the 
metropolis of the world will consent to remain behind the other 
towns of England in the supply of such primary necessaries of life as 
heat, and light, and cleanly air. 

The Formation of Fogs and Clouds. 

A VALUABLE contribution to the physical history of fogs, mists, 
and clouds has been recently made in a communication by Mr. 
John Aitken to the Royal Society of Edinburgh, a society that is far 
too much overshadowed by the Royal Society of London. He used 
two large glass receivers, one filled with ordinary air and the 
other with filtered air, the filtration being effected by passing it 
through cotton wool, which removes even the finest particles of dust. 
Into these he passed equal quantities of steam. In the unfiltered air 
the steam assumed the usual well-known cloudy form, in the filtered 
air it remained transparent. 

From this it appears that aqueous vapour does not condense into 
cloud matter, or " vesicular vapour," as it has been called, unless it 
is supplied with some sort of solid nuclei upon which the water may 
be deposited. We all know what happens when we supply a large 
nucleus, such as a bottle of iced water in a warm room. In this 
case the amount of condensation is due to the lower temperature of 
the bottle cooling the film of air immediately surrounding it, and 
diminishing its capacity for retaining vapour. This film of air thus 
becomes super-saturated with steam, which it deposits on the bottle. 

The air in both of Mr. Aitken's receivers was super-saturated, but 
in spite of this remained clear when it contained no solid surfaces 
upon which the steam could condense. I presume that condensation 
did occur on the surface of the receiver itself. 



Science Notes. 373 

Water behaves similarly in passing from the liquid to the solid 
state. Pure clear water standing in a smooth vessel may be cooled 
down considerably below its freezing point, but immediately upon 
the introduction of a solid nucleus, such as a grain of sand or any- 
thing angular, crystals of ice are formed on and around the solid 
nucleus, and the temperature of the whole rises to the ordinary 
freezing point Super-saturated solutions of crystalline salts act in like 
manner, sulphate of soda notably so. 

Mr. Aitken infers that a fog or a cloud or mist is an accumulation 
of minute solid particles coated with an extremely thin film of water. 
Other experiments lead him to conclude that when there is much 
dust in the air, but little vapour condenses on each particle, and thus 
all may continue floating ; but if the proportion of dust to con- 
densible vapour is small, each particle condenses so much that it 
more readily falls as rain. 

According to these experiments, there would be no fogs, no clouds, 
and probably no rain if there were no dust, but instead of these the 
super- saturated air would deposit its vapour as heavy dew on the sur- 
face of every solid body upon the earth. All clouds, fogs, mists, 
every puff of steam escaping into the air, and the visible condensa- 
tion of our breath in cold weather, are indications of the dusty state 
of our atmosphere This dustiness is indicated by other investiga- 
tions. Piazzi Smyth, in 1856, erected a temporary observatory on 
the Peak of Tenerifle, at a height of 10,700 feet above the level of 
the sea, but the dust-haze which interferes with telescopic work was 
still there, though much was left below. 

The sources of dust were examined by Mr. Aitken, and in the 
course of this investigation it appeared that the chief fog-producing 
particles are those which are not large enough to form the visible 
motes of the sunbeam, but are far finer and quite beyond the reach of 
human vision. He found that if pieces of glass, iron, brass, &c, were 
heated in air that had been filtered, they introduced clouds of dust 
producing a dense fog, and that this source of dust (or what Mr. 
Aitken calls dust) is so effective^ that one ^hundredth of a grain of 
iron thus heated will produce a distinct cloudiness in the experimental 
receiver. Many different substances were thus tried, and all were 
found to be fog-producers. 

The visible motes of the air may be destroyed by burning them 
with a gas flame ; such a flame does not destroy the fog-producing 
particles, but on the contrary produces them, as was shown by 
burning gas in a receiver supplied with filtered air. The products of 
combustion of pure air and dustless gas gave an intensely fog- 
producing atmosphere. 



374 ^* Gentlematis Magazine. 

The most remarkable fact connected with this fog-production by 
infinitesimal particles is that the fog-producing air from heated glass, 
metals, burning gas, &c, became incapable of producing fog when 
filtered through cotton wool 

The ordinary external air was found to give less fog during wet 
than during dry weather. This appears contradictory to our ordi- 
nary experience, but is indirectly confirmed by observations that 
have been quite independently made by M. Andr^, and were com- 
municated to the Academy of Science on the 3rd of January. A high 
barometer during a fog was observed to sink suddenly. Rain fol- 
lowed, and the fog disappeared ; afterwards, with a rise] in the 
barometer, the fog reappeared. 

Mr. Aitken found that the air of a laboratory where gas was 
burning always gave a denser fog than that outside ; and this 
occurred equally whether the gas burned as a Bunsen flame, a bright 
flame, or a smoky flame. The same with the products of combustion 
of a fire, whether clear or smoky. 

Common salt burned in a fire or spirit flame gave an atmosphere 
of great fog-producing power, exceeding most of the other substances 
similarly tried, but the most intensely active fog-producer of all was 
sulphur. The fog it produced was so dense that it was impossible 
to see through a thickness of six or seven yards. 

The vapours of other liquids, such as sulphuric acid, alcohol, 
benzole, and paraffin were diffused through air in the same manner 
as the vapour of water in the receivers. When their atmosphere 
was filtered they behaved like the water, and gave no fogs, but with 
ordinary unfiltered air their vapours condensed as water does, and 
gave sulphuric acid fog, alcohol fog, benzole fog, and paraffin fog, 
showing that solid nuclei were required for these vapours as for.the 
vapours of water. 

I am not addicted to verbal quibbling, but in this case am dis- 
posed to quarrel with the use made in this paper of the word " dust" 
This word has an established and received meaning, which we all 
understand, and J presume that none of us would apply it to the 
odorous emanations from a rose or a grain of musk. We suppose 
that something does emanate from these, but do not call it dust, 
mainly because its particles must be so infinitesimally minute. Now, I 
think the same applies to whatever it may be that is given off when a 
hundredth of a grain of iron is heated. The action that occurs in 
such a case must be more like sublimation than the driving off of 
what we understand by dust. In the case of sulphur, which has 
such remarkable power, we know that actual sublimation must occur, 



Science Notes. 375 

and, likewise, the formation of sulphurous acid, which acid has so 
much affinity for water that its condensation of the aqueous vapour 
must follow as a simple act of chemical combination. The old 
experiment of opening a bottle containing transparent hydrochloric 
acid gas, and setting it free in the air, when it immediately produces 
a dense cloud, is thus explained, and I think that the same explana- 
tion meets some, though not all, of Mr. Aitken's results. The sensa- 
tional lecture experiment of mixing clear ammoniacal gas with clear 
hydrochloric acid gas affords a startling case of fog-production purely 
by chemical action. The density of this fog is so great that we 
cannot see through a few inches of it, or even through one inch, if 
the experiment is well conducted. We know that the fog in this 
case is composed of minute crystals of chloride of ammonium 
formed by the combination of the two gases. 

I therefore conclude that Mr. Aitken has probably confounded 
two sets of results — the mechanical adhesion to nuclei, and the pre- 
cipitation due to chemical union. If not, there must exist some 
diffusible particles of matter having dimensions between the gross- 
ness of visible dust particles and the minuteness of the final molecular 
constituents which are supposed to unite when chemical combina- 
tion occurs. 



A New Application of the Electric Light. 

AT a fete held during last autumn in the vicinity of the forest of 
Fontainebleau electric lights were used. They attracted such 
a multitude of insects that two of the lamps placed in the open air 
at a coffee-stall had to be removed, " all the consumers being 
covered with moths of every description. " 

A correspondent of Nature states that in experimenting with a 
Browning electric light upon a roof in Charing Cross, "besides 
innumerable flies and moths, single individuals of two species of 
sphinxes were attracted, probably from considerable distances." 

At the last exhibition of agriculture and insectology at Paris a 
medal was awarded for a lamp especially adapted for catching insects, 
and it has been suggested that the electric light should be used for 
that purpose. The idea appears rather extravagant at first glance, 
but when we consider the mischief done by so many species of these 
small creatures, and their infatuation in the pursuit of dazzle, we 
may yet see the suggestion practically carried out, especially where 
locusts do such fearful havoc 

Many years ago, when wandering on foot in the Highlands of 



376 The Gentleman y s Magazine. 

Scotland, I saw a strange vehicle coming down the hill I had just 
descended. It was a long packing-case mounted on four small 
wheels, and surmounted by a rough-looking man, who with a long 
stick steered its rattling course by pushing one or the other side of 
the road towards which it swerved. On reaching the bottom of the 
hill he dismounted and told me that he saw me pass the public-house 
above and thus came after me for company sake. We travelled 
together during the day, I walking and he driving his packing-case. 
On level or ascending ground he stood behind it, and, leaning forward 
upon it, pushed it along ; descending the hills, he sat upon it and 
steered as above. He assured me that he could thus do thirty miles 
per day with all his heavy luggage ; and as he did twenty with me 
after about n a.m., this was probably. true. 

I presently learned that he was an eminent journeyman naturalist, 
employed by a London society to collect insects for amateurs. 
Fifty subscribers of j£i each kept him at work for the summer 
months, and he contracted to supply each of the fifty with a certain 
number of mounted beetles, butterflies, &c. 

He communicated many of the mysteries of his trade, such as 
" sugaring," " gingering," " sheeting," &c. " Sugaring " was a process 
of smearing eligible gate-posts, walls, or trees with treacle and glue, 
or some other unctuous sugary preparation. Certain insects were 
thus caught by the adhesion of their legs and wings to the bait 
" Gingering " was a similar use of ginger wine, which, he told me, 
was especially favoured by certain species of epicurean flies. 
" Sheeting " was performed by hanging a white sheet between the 
trees of a suitable wood, and in the stilly hours of night throwing the 
light of a bull's-eye lamp upon it Night-moths flew against the sheet, 
were stupefied thereby, and easily taken without damage to their 
delicate feather-dust ; and he was secured from interruption by the 
ghost stories his sheet invoked He had several other methods of using 
a powerful lantern, so many and so efficient that he was prohibited 
from carrying on his trade on certain parts of the coast, lest he should 
deceive the vessels that were sailing by the guidance of lighthouses. 

He made his summer livelihood thus, and in the winter was 
" the man in armour " at the Lord Mayor's show, arid a pantomime 
policeman. Screwing on skates on the Serpentine and other odd 
vocations were added to these. Some of them would scarcely be 
called reputable by other people, but his only measure of morality 
was success. His ambition was aerial. If he could only get " a few 
swells " to subscribe enough to buy him a balloon, he would make his 
fortune. His best job had been in that line. Once, when he was not 



Science Notes. 377 

engaged by the Linnaean Society, but was assisting at a balloon- 
filling at Cremorne, the distinguished aeronaut announced to make 
the ascent was found at the hour for starting to be so unusually 
drunk that he could not sit upright in the car ; the entomologist was 
offered ten pounds for taking his place. The distinguished aeronaut 
was put to bed, the entomologist, dressed in the aeronaut's clothes, 
ascended gallantly, waved the aeronaut's well-known cap to the mul- 
titude below, and descended safely. 

But I am wandering from the scientific path indicated by this 
proposed new application of the electric light, a proposition which is 
strongly confirmed by the sage experience of my vagabond entomo- 
logical friend, who, I may add, is the discoverer of many new species 
of British insects, especially of glow-worms. The above will probably 
identify him to some of our older naturalists, though I withhold his 
name. 

Disinfection and Boric Acid. 

ONE of the royal medals recently awarded by the Royal Society 
was deservedly given to Professor Joseph Lister, for his per- 
severing advocacy of the necessity of excluding atmospheric germs 
from wounds, his practical success in doing so and in teaching 
others how to do it by means of the now commonly used carbolic- 
spray. 

He has demonstrated that most of the ills that wounded flesh is 
heir to proceed from the activity of those living microscopic abomi- 
nations, the bacteria, and other organisms that infest the atmosphere, 
fall upon all unprotected flesh, and forthwith begin to feed and grow 
and breed thereon, converting the flesh into putrefying or suppurating 
filth by the villanous chemistry of their unsavoury vitality. 

Under ordinary circumstances they do not penetrate the skin, and 
therefore such an injury as the simple fracture of a bone (Le. a bone 
broken internally without breaking through the skin) heals with com- 
parative rapidity and without complication, if the constitution of the 
patient be sound ; but if the splintered bone breaks through the skin, 
forming a " compound fracture," a multitude of foul disturbances 
may follow, due to the above-named pestiferous little wretches. The 
same may happen if a wound is exposed only during the process of 
dressing. Professor Lister combats this by first discovering a vapour 
that poisons the pests without poisoning the patient, and then 
devising a method of applying it that shall not interfere with the 
necessary proceedings of the surgeon. This is effected by the " car- 
bolic-spray." Its vapour either kills the germs, or renders them 



378 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

incapable of further multiplication. Then the wound is bandaged in 
such a manner as to prevent any further exposure to the air. 

It often happens that rude experience anticipates the results of 
scientific research. I may quote an instance of this : About 16 years 
ago I witnessed a curious case of successful surgery. An American 
engineer wounded his arm very severely with a chisel He refused 
to have the wound sewn up or otherwise treated by a surgeon. 
Instead of this, he saturated some cotton waste with copal varnish, 
laid a large lump of this mess upon and around the wound, without 
drawing the edges together or taking any other precautions, and then 
bound his arm with some rag and a handkerchief. He assured me 
that nothing further need be done to it, that it would heal in its own 
fashion, and then the hardened mass of cotton and varnish would 
fall off, leaving merely a smooth clean scar. This was actually the 
case. He further told me that during a long and very rough expe- 
rience in the far West he had treated many ugly wounds in like 
manner, and always successfully. 

The philosophy of this is now intelligible. Essential oils, resins, 
and gum-resins like copal, destroy the vitality of bacteria and fungus 
germs ; thus the varnish cleared the wound of any of these that 
might have already settled upon it ; then as it hardened it formed an 
air-tight adherent cake, effectually protecting the lacerated flesh from 
further corruption. Thus protected it healed freely. Since witness- 
ing this I have often thought that the ancient and apparently 
barbarous practice of completing an amputation by dipping the 
stump into melted pitch may have been quite as curative as the 
modern refinements of artery-tying, flapping, &c. The pitch would 
act in the same manner as the copal varnish. 

During the horrors of the Franco-German war, Lister's method 
of disinfecting wounds was commonly practised — so commonly as to 
call for the creation of a new German verb, to listern, 

I am told by surgical friends that the application of this principle 
of antiseptic treatment is now simplified by using boracic (or boric) 
lint, i.e. lint prepared by steeping it in a saturated solution of boric acid, 
and then drying it. Wounds, obstinate ulcers, &c, are covered with 
this and protected from the air, whereupon they heal in the same 
manner as the varnished arm of the American engineer. 

The antiseptic properties of boric acid (also designated boracic 
acid) are now becoming understood. They are very remarkable, and 
could not have been theoretically anticipated by any d priori con- 
sideration of the chemical properties of this acid, which is the mildest 
of mineral substances bearing the name of acid. It appears to 



Science. Notes. 379 

poison our microscopic enemies, without having any injurious action 
on ourselves, whether applied externally or swallowed in moderate 
quantities. Hence a solution of this acid may be used for washing 
meat that has been kept beyond the customary time, and in a 
variety of other ways for food-preservation. 

Mr. H. Endemann finds that fresh beef packed with one per 
cent of boric acid, and a salt pickle of 50 per cent, remains sweet 
for several months, during hot weather, but that beef previously 
salted could not be thus preserved. A. Herzon has recently made a 
series of experiments, showing that boric acid has no effect in pre- 
venting the fermentation of sugar, so far as its conversion into alcohol 
is concerned, but that it entirely prevents the further fermentation 
which converts the alcohol into vinegar. This should have. an im- 
portant practical application in brewing and wine-making, quite 
irrespective of the vexed question of whether the Mycodcrma aceti 
are, or are not, poisoned by the boric acid ; or whether they generate 
the vinegar, or only feed upon it after its production. 

I believe that I may justly claim for my friend, Mr. Arthur 
Robottom, the practical discovery of the antiseptic properties of boric 
acid and its compounds. As the circumstances of this discovery 
are curious, I will here narrate them. 

In the course of an adventurous journey in Southern California, he 
left the road at Indian Wells, and travelled over twenty-seven miles 
of a desert of loose sand till he reached the mouth of a salt canon — 
a gorge about twenty to forty yards wide — with rock walls, and the 
bottom covered with salt, in some places more than a foot in depth. 

After struggling through nine miles of this, and suffering severely 
from the intense heat, he reached its expansion into an open valley 
fifteen miles long and eight miles across. This, now known as the 
Great Borax Lake, was the main object of his journey. It is com- 
pletely paved with a deep bed of salt ; not a blade of grass or any 
other vegetation is there, nor any kind of wild animal; not a bird to 
be seen, nor even an insect Here and there a few brine pools, but 
all the rest a snow-like surface of salt. 

This salt consists of carbonate and other salts of soda, largely 
of borate of lime and borates of soda. It was for these that Mr. 
Robottom was searching, and having found them, negotiated for the 
concession of a portion of the land according to Californian usage. In 
May 1874 he revisited the dreary waste to confirm his claim. This 
time he was accompanied by Mr. T. Doidge, and there was a hut ib 
the valley, and two men occupying it The heat was intense, 119 in 
the shade ; the water they carried in t